


Complementing Baggage

by Kittyknowsthings



Series: Complementing Baggage [1]
Category: Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Family of Choice, Impostor Syndrome, Internalised ableism, M/M, Not entirely healthy relationship dynamics, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychiatric Abuse, Social Anxiety, Still-abusive dynamics between said adult child and his parents, internalised victim blaming, minority complexes, past ableism of the “fix-the-broken-child” variety, past drug abuse, since both have no idea how to have a functioning relationship, they really are, they're trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-10-28 17:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittyknowsthings/pseuds/Kittyknowsthings
Summary: Recovery isn't linear – Good thing Julian and Garak are used to living a non-linear life.Set in the alternate universe Deep Dish Nine.Starts out as a companion piece to tinsnip's Splice and evolves from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Splice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/963903) by [tinsnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/pseuds/tinsnip). 



> I took the Julian and Garak from tinsnip, who had taken and adapted them from Lady Yate-Xel, and then I put my own twist on them. Apart from some details in Julian's backstory, it assumes Deep Dish Nine by Lady Yate-Xel, and tinsnip's Inconvenient Fireworks, Disconnect and Splice as previous canon, everything else is Pick'n mix and my own additions.  
> Some references to A Stitch in Time by Andrew Robinson, it is however not required to understand the story and there are no major spoilers to the book.
> 
> The story is written completely (editing in progress) and should therefore update weekly.  
> There are a few chapters which are very short for narrative effect, I will post them paired together with the previous or subsequent chapter, whichever flows better.

He is, honestly, not sure why he had let himself believe.

_Jules, someone cultured and sophisticated isn't for someone like you._

He wants to argue with that, he really does, because Garak very much appeared to like him. The only pleasure in his life, or what was it he had said?

_But did he mean Julian or Jules?_

The answer is obvious. Garak never _met_ Jules. Garak is trying to redeem himself, and Jules would only weigh him down. It was Julian he met, Julian he fell for, Julian he needs.

So Julian he will be.

Writing nice texts, bringing leftovers, talking about everything and nothing, carefully curating his mask - but he is unable to to shake the feeling that Garak simply isn't buying it.

It is the way he is looking at him, wistfully, to only then shake his head, near imperceptibly.

Now that he's off the drugs, he will see you as the fraud you are, Jules. Enjoy this while it lasts.

But how much he hates waiting for the other shoe to drop. It isn't long until he can't bear it anymore.

“This isn’t working, is it, Elim.”

And when he sees Garak – in his head, he is Garak again, and isn't that sad - shake his head, his heart sinks.

At least a token effort, Julian, come on, it's the least you can do. You love – loved? - this man, and he's gone through hell, and he brought some of it back with him.

“What should we do about it” It doesn't even come out as a question.

He closes his eyes, bracing himself for impact. It would be over now.

“ _This_ isn’t working.” Garak makes a vague gesture at the room and Julian doesn't understand, this isn't how he had expected their conversation to go.

“What do you mean?”

“How can we start over when nothing else has changed?”

We? So he is not referring to their proximity? Dared he hope? He grasps at it as the straw it is.

“What are you suggesting?” Is he even suggesting anything? Or is this Garak's token effort now?

“Let's go somewhere!”

Julian smiles, automatically.

_If all else fails, play along.  
_

“Where would we go?

“Anywhere you like. Tell me where you wish to go and I will take you there.”

Oh, and this is Garak grasping at straws, isn't it, and quite unrealistic ones at that. He keeps up the smile.

_Let him down gently, Julian, he's desperate.  
_

“I have shifts, Elim, I can’t just—”

And he is interrupted, and he has a split second to wonder when the last time was Garak did that, it had been so normal once, cutting each other off in an excited conversation, but not once in the last twenty-six days, and it is through that thought that he hears him.

“I don’t mean for weeks, Julian. Just a weekend. A change of scenery – wouldn’t it be nice?”

It would indeed, and Garak – Elim? seems like he is trying really hard not to look hopeful.

Hope, that is something he hasn't seen on that face for a while, and he can't crush it, not when it is the most beautiful thing he had seen in … at least twenty-six days.

_Don't get your hopes up. He will see you for who you are, and even he will recoil. But you can have this, at least._

“I suppose so. I have nothing planned. I’ll call off work.”

And this time, both Jules and Julian smile.

Now Elim is getting the laptop from the desk to the couch table, moving the charger to a different outlet.

“You know that thing has a battery, right?” A quip, Julian made an actual quip, and he can see Elim light up.

“I'd rather preserve the length of said battery's life. Just in case.”

And Julian considers saying something about an agent rationing his resources, but decides it's too soon for a joke like that.

“So, where do we go?” He asks instead.

Elim has brought up a map of the area and gestures to the screen, now. An invitation.

“I told you, your choice.”

A familiar blue spot on the map, south of Alpha City, makes him wince. “Well, I can tell you we are definitely not going to that lake.”

“Why is that?”

“Most horrible family vacation of my life.” He leans back but hasn't taken into account that he lands up against Elim. He finds he doesn't mind, though, and that is nice, so he stays.

“Oh really, do tell.”

“Not much to tell – my parents, my uncle and aunt, my cousin Rania, and of course me had a little cabin booked right by the lake. It was beautiful, really, surrounded by the mountains” - he closes his eyes, starts shaping the contours with his hands - “and fir trees before them, only one street leading up there, everything quiet.”

“That does really sound quite beautiful.” Elim is smiling softly, wistfully, and Julian sympathizes, because while he does love the hustle and bustle of the city, even he occasionally longs for the peace and quiet of the woods.

“If not, within five minutes, my father and my uncle had begun a spectacular shouting match. At the end of the day, they packed us up and we went back - in separate cars - without even spending one night there.”

“All the more reason to go back there some time?” Elim asks, cautiously, and it is positively cute.

And Julian smiles at this, caught - because he does like the idea, no matter how ridiculous it is to be considering this with a man he was convinced he'd break up with a few minutes ago.

“Not this time, it's a seven hour drive.”

“Okay, not to the South, to the North, then?”

They scroll around on the map, googling names of cities they have never seen before, taking virtual tours, looking at satellite images of rivers and hills.

“We never took family vacations in that sense,” Elim begins and Julian looks up. He has never heard about his partner's parents beyond the occasional mention, and he has been glad because that had meant he doesn't have to talk about his, either, but now he is curious.

“But once, my father took me to the country – Morfan province, close to Ba'aten peninsula. I had never seen so many trees in my life” Elim smiles at that, and Julian can't help but mirror it. While he rationally knows that Cardassia is basically a giant desert, it is hard to imagine a child never having seen trees.

“He was supposed to meet an informant, I believe, but he made a weekend of it.”

Julian’s mind is reeling at that – informant? So Elim's father had worked for the government, too? He vaguely remembers a story told long ago – at the theatre, right – where Elim had mentioned he was meant to take over his Uncle's business. How did he end up in government service, then? Had Elim ever had any input in what he was supposed to become?

_Well, he has a choice now, and he is choosing to be open, or so I hope._

“Have you ever seen a Cardassian riding hound?”

Julian shakes his head and Elim takes it as a prompt to google a picture for him.

“Much more temperamental than your average horse, and it takes a lot of training to ride one. They are, like most canines, horribly loyal, and won't let just anyone on their backs. Do, however, never try to explain that to a stubborn five-year-old.”

“You tried to ride one of those?” How could anyone let a child _near_ something like this?

“And sprained my ankle pretty badly.” Still, the young doctor is staring at the image of the obvious carnivore on the screen, very convinced that this animal was capable of tearing a child limb from limb.

“The first few times, the hound merely shook me off as I was trying to climb on it's back, but then a wompat came out of the bushes. Riding hounds still have strong hunting instincts. It stayed still long enough for me to climb on it's back, fixated on the rodent … and then dashed off. I was thrown off instantly and sprained my ankle”

Julian first smiles, then winces in sympathy. He clicks back to the map, staring at it, thinking.

“How about there?” He points at a big green spot – Griffith National Park. “I was there Freshman year, camping with Rijal and a few of her friends. It was nice!”

“I am not much for sleeping in tents,” Elim says, looking doubtful.

“Oh no, they have cabins and cottages to rent, some of them right by the lake, others half in the forest”

He clicks around a bit more and is rewarded with the national park's homepage, clicking on the gallery, watching Elim get wistful again.

“We'd have to book a car ...”

Already he has reclaimed the keyboard and touch pad, searching for the best offer on a rental, comparing prices on the cottages on different websites, finding coupon codes, and Julian can't help but marvel at his newfound enthusiasm.

When the last clicks are done, he sighs softly.

He hugs Garak tight, whispering “I needed this...” in his ear.

_I needed to see you are still in there, that you are willing to put effort into us, into this, whatever this is, so I can do the same._

The preparations are fun and easy.

While Julian prints maps of the most promising hiking trails and makes notes on them, Elim makes sure they won't starve at the cottage.

While Elim packs a few books and some Tarkalean tea, Julian rolls up extra blankets and slips a few chocolates into a bag.

They even go to the camping store together, and watching Elim try to not too obviously crinkle his nose in disgust at the clothing selection is incredibly amusing.

But as charming as “Let's get away from everything to have a fresh start” sounds, when you actually get away, you have to start thinking.

The car ride is hard. The radio doesn't provide the ambiance he had hoped for, and neither does the rain and now that there are no more plans to make, they are out of easy things to talk about.

The cottage, though run down, is charming, and his mood is picking up slowly, but seeing Garak expertly making a fire once more reminds him how little he actually knows. It is stupid to even be surprised, the man could probably do anything, but he feels so small and young in comparison.

He is sitting in front of the crackling fire, fingers playing around with the knotted rug, leaning against the couch on which Elim is sitting, and he would only have to move his head slightly to the side to lean it against his knee, or he could move around a bit and lean up against his entire legs.

He likes the idea, and he is very nearly tempted to do exactly that, when Elim's – no, Garak's voice interrupts his train of thoughts.

“Not so bad?”

It would have been too nice to think Garak was as comfortable with this as he was. Not so bad he can work with, though. He has to. He keeps up his smile as good as he can.

“Um… sorry. Lost myself for a minute there.”

And Garak smiles back just as false, and moves away, starting to unpack, and when he's out of the Cottage, Julian finally allows himself to smash a hand into the couch behind him.

“Stupid Jules” He murmurs and flinches, but Garak does not appear to have heard. Losing himself in his fantasy world instead of living every moment here? Who knows how many of those he is going to get?

He will have to do better than this.

He needs a game plan.

Coming up with one, however, seems to be quite difficult, and his thoughts keep running in circles all afternoon.

He needs something to anchor him in reality, so he tries for the radio, pointedly avoiding thinking that it is the second time he is attempting to use one as a crutch.

He crinkles his noise at the static, fiddles around with it to get the channel as clear as he can … and now he is focusing on the music. But it is better than the silence, now his thoughts are not aimlessly drifting anymore. Maybe now he can come up with something that actually works.

It is only half way through his second sandwich that Julian remembers his plan of savouring the moment, and he notes that this sandwich is marvelous. Of course it is, Garak made it.

And now he is biting into an apple, juicy and sweet and just the right amount of sour – Garak went to the farmer's market for this yesterday, for their provisions, proving his expertise once more, and again Julian is feeling inadequate.

He had let Garak draw him out, from his old life, leftovers from Deep Dish Nine and the occasional outing to a dance club into this world of good, whole food and nice evenings out, but what had he brought to the table?

Garak is smiling at him, now, and Julian wonders if it is at his childish pleasure with something that is just everyday life for the older man. He asks, nonverbally, what is so funny, but gets brushed off.

And after they wash up, he really wants to lean into that kiss, but he can see the look on Garak’s face, and he feels horrible.

_He is still hurting. Give him a smile, show him you understand he needs his time._

And he throws the dishcloth in the sink and helplessly pats Garak's shoulder before he turns away, feeling pathetic.

When they are sitting on the couch, together and pressed up against each other, his mind is still reeling and he is not one step further to actually formulating a plan on how to talk to him. He keeps stealing glances at Garak, who apparently has trouble concentrating on his book.

“What is it?” Garak asks now.

Apparently Julian has not been as stealthy as he thought.

He tries a laugh, but it sounds too desperate.

_This is too soon, I have no idea what to do_

And Garak is building a mask again, obviously.

“Julian, can we talk, please?”

Panic flashes through Julian. He tries not letting it show, but he can't help frowning a bit.

“What about?” He tries to answer calmly while all his insides scream: _Not ready for this conversation!_

And there Garak is actually going to turn off the radio, his anchor, and _deflect, Julian, deflect._

“No, don’t, can you just—” Julian puts a hand on his arm, trying not to shake “Can you leave it playing, please? I like it.”

_Now that was one pathetic excuse, Jules._

And Garak very obviously knows it, he opens his mouth, closes it again, probably wondering how to best call him out on it without hurting him, stupid man, still trying to protect him instead of himself.

“It’s difficult to talk with it playing” is what comes out.

“Then let’s not, all right? Let’s not talk. Let’s just be here together, all right?” He is flailing inwardly, but puts on his best smile, makes sure his eyes crinkle just right, and doesn't that bring him back to practicing in front of a mirror.

_Not now, Jules._

“Very well. If that’s what you’d prefer,” Garak says and smiles back.

“Mmmh, I think it is.” _Come on, change of plans. Deflect. Distract. How?_ Garak tilts his head questioningly. _Seduce._

And he ignores his inner voice that is reminding him he meant to give both of them time, rebuild intimacy, that is telling him not to use sex as means to an end, because desperate times call for desperate measures, and this isn't hard, this he knows, this he can do for Garak.

For Elim, who just asked “My dear, are you certain?” and that only strengthens his resolve.

“This is what I want, Elim, this is what I want—” and he is not sure whom he is trying to convince more, but then Elim strokes him just there and now he really wants this, because it's been too long, and he needs something normal, needs to feel this connection, needs to feel this somewhere outside of his – of Jules' silly daydreams.

Elim draws it out, but he is not going to complain. Every second he doesn't have to think is a good one. His lover is perfect, of course, knows just how much sweet torture he can take, he has not forgotten a single spot that makes him shiver and writhe and moan, and when Julian comes, just for one moment, there is perfection again, real one this time.

Now it is his turn to make his partner feel good and when Elim tilts his head, baring his neck in invitation, he knows just where to start … until a soft cry of pain when teeth meet flesh brings him back to reality.

“So I can’t even do _this_ for you now.”

He had not meant to say it out loud, still angry at himself because he should have known better, but if even this isn't working anymore, is there anything that possibly can?

Or is he fighting a losing battle?

Sadness washes over him at that thought, and now Elim – Garak? apologizes, and he shouldn't, he really shouldn't, so Julian starts to ramble, because it is what he always does when he feels helpless, and says so much more than he means to.

His helplessness spills out together with his wish to just help Elim, and he really didn't want to say this, but it's too late now, and he can't help a bitter half-smile when he says “I keep thinking I can make it better. I suppose I should know that I can’t.”

And now Elim _draws him close and comforts him?_ How messed up is that? It should be the other way around! And he feels so incredibly selfish for leaning into the embrace.

“You make it better, my dear. You do. Every day, you do.”

_Are we back to beautiful lies, now?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

Julian takes the kiss against his forehead, and tries not to sigh in relief that Elim – Garak? Elim! - doesn't hate him for his selfishness after all, though he wonders if it would be better if he did.

Questions he hasn’t thought of in months bubble up in his mind again – has Elim idealized him? Is his default answer to stay with him no matter what, does he feel he must do penance and bear all of Julian's problems?

Other even older questions join Julian’s rather crowded thought process.

Why can’t Julian simply do better?

Can’t he or won’t he?

Because it is ridiculous to wonder if he does not have the capacity for it. Just an excuse. He has to try harder.

When they lie down, he indulges himself and cuddles up, and it has been forever since they did this, and Julian's face is against Garak's shoulder, and he allows himself to simply savour this. Garak, however, still seems lost in thought.

Julian allows himself to drowse a bit, but it isn't long until Elim softly says his name.

For a moment he considers feigning sleep, but he knows it is hopeless. “Hmm?”

“Talk to me.”

_Oh please, not now._ He pauses, composes himself, builds a distance again. He can't talk to Elim right now. Maybe he can talk to Garak.

“Talk to you? About what?”

“About anything. About whatever you like.”

_I like being here with you, not having to think._

“Can’t we just enjoy this?”

“I can’t enjoy it if you’re not happy.”

“I _am_ happy.” Or at least he was, more or less, a few seconds ago. Content, maybe. Okay with the situation as a whole, wanting a break before tackling it again. But Garak won't let go.

“That isn’t true, my dear.”

“Really.” Julian raises his head, looking him in the eye. “You know that, do you?”

“I know you.”

_Oh no you don't._

“Ha!” He knows he is barely suppressing his anger, so he rolls away, turning his head to Garak, and feels like a pouting child. Okay. Confrontational it is.

“All right,” he starts “All right, if you’re so damned clever, perhaps you can answer a question for me, Garak.” And he sees the pain in the older man's eyes.

“I’ll try.”

Julian knows he should stop talking, knows it and yet can’t, and this is _exactly why he hadn’t wanted to talk in the first place._

If Garak wants to have a talk, he is bloody well going to get one.

“That’s all I could ever ask.” He is not sure if his voice drips with sarcasm. “Answer this one for me: do you think people are born innately good or bad? Or do we make ourselves that way?”

Garak looks confused, surprised even. Of course he is.

“Pardon me?”

“You wanted to talk, so let’s talk. Answer me: innate or not?”

Garak sighs. “I don’t believe in good or bad.”

Julian gets angry at that. “Don’t dodge the question.”

“I’m not dodging the question. Life is lived in shades of grey. Thinking of someone as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ makes it too simple, too easy to dismiss what they might have to say.”

“How about ‘right’ and ‘wrong’?”

“That depends on the context, my dear…”

He glares at Garak, who seems to get the message and stops deflecting.

“I believe in them as guideposts, concepts that show us ways to be in a society. Choose this action, be seen this way; choose that action, be seen another way. That’s all they are.”

Do things to be seen in a certain way? Julian has heard this once too often. He tenses up. 

“So there is no inherent moral goodness in an act, for you. It’s all about how it makes you look to someone else.”

_Please don't be so shallow. Don't be like them. Please, you of all people, don't be like them._

“Any act can be seen as good or bad, depending on who is looking at it…” And now he can hear him turn over, too. They are back to back, now. He'll have to be more offensive, then.

“How about lying? Is lying bad?”

_Jules, you are treading dangerous waters_

“That depends.”

“Is lying to one’s lover bad, Garak?” He keeps his voice tightly controlled, but inwardly curses his tongue that, once loosened, will not be stilled.

“Sometimes lies must be told to protect someone. Sometimes one should not ask another to shoulder a burden that is not theirs. I didn’t want you to—”

Oh no, this isn't what this is about at all, but he can't tell him that.

“Me? What does this have to do with me? We’re talking abstracts here.” His voice is clipped.

“My apologies.” He pauses for a moment. “Look at it this way. We build walls to protect ourselves from the weather, don’t we?”

And now he launches into a monologue.

“But by doing this, aren’t we lying to ourselves about how things really are? We look out through the windows and think, ah, raining again, and we go on with what we’re doing as if the rain isn’t real. But there’s nothing wrong with that, is there. One would have to be a stickler indeed to object to the simple fiction of a wall.” A sigh.“Sometimes a lie can be a wall. Sometimes it protects us from something we don’t need to experience for ourselves.”

“Some walls need to come down.”

_Are we talking about his or mine, now?_

Julian shakes his head to banish the question. He can’t afford this kind of thinking.

“Some do, yes. Sometimes, the rain comes through whether we like it or not. At that point, the wall is no longer serving its purpose. Leaving it there would be foolish.”

“What about building a wall once the rain’s already come in?”

He has let Garak see glimpses of Jules, on occasion, showed him that the Julian Jadzia knows or the Julian Rij knows is not all there is to him.

He shifts.

“That does seem futile.”

“A silly thing to do, right?” He feels bitter now, a bit.

“Very silly.”

_Says the man who is just as guilty of this as I am?_

“You tried to end this, Garak. You tried to make me leave.”

_You made me be only Julian again._

He can barely whisper, and Garak hisses. He obviously hadn't expected it, and this is raw and painful for both of them, but they need to talk this through, as much as they can right now at least.

“I did.”

“Explain.” A harsh demand.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“What?” _This_ he hadn't expected.

“Someone like you isn’t for someone like me.”

_No, no, you have it all wrong, it's the other way around, but you don't know, don't know about Jules..._

He is suppressing the urge to hyperventilate as good as he can, twists the blanket in his hands to calm himself down – _don't do that, Jules, it's noticeable._

“I don’t think – I – someone like you?” Is all he brings out.

“Someone who has done what I’ve done. Who’s made the choices I’ve made.”

“Hold on,” This is Garak twisting his own logic to justify their relationship? “I thought you said there were no such things as good or bad choices.”

“There aren’t, but—”

“I thought everything you did was for Cardassia.”

“It was—”

“Isn’t that the highest calling a Cardassian can have? To act for Cardassia?”

“That’s one way of—”

“Then something doesn’t make sense, Garak. Your thinking is muddy.”

He finally gives into the urge of curling up, only wishes he had Kukalaka to hold onto.

“I have hurt people.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I have killed people.”

“You’ve said that, too,”

Julian curls up tighter.

“Do you really want to know someone like me?”

Does Garak really think this is the problem? It’s not like everyone in his life has clean hands.

Nerys had been in the resistance.

Worf had not learned fighting in a martial arts class.

And of course his best friend had fought in Cardassia.

“I know Miles.”

Garak stills and Julian knows he has him now.

“You said it yourself. Miles was a soldier. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I know…” A pause, and a sigh. “I’ve done some reading on the Setlik massacre, and… I don’t think anyone came away from that one with clean hands.”

“You may be right,” Garak says after a short pause.

“The Cardassians killed kids, you know. They killed everybody.”

“Yes.”

“And then Miles had to go in there, and…” He tries to say something, but fails, tries again “I think he saw some things… I think he _did_ some things that he… wishes he hadn’t.”

“Has he told you much about it?”

“Almost nothing.”

_I don't need to know all about who you were, Garak, don't you understand?_

“But it doesn’t matter what he did, Garak, because I know him; he’s a good man,” and he tries to put as much emphasis on this as he can “He cares about his family and his friends, and he’s… he’s trying.”

And doing a much better job of it than Julian.

“And you may not believe in good and bad, but I do, and Miles is good – because he makes himself good, he makes the choices that—”

He catches himself, takes a breath.

“And I… I think you are, too. You did things that you regret. Some of them I… can’t imagine. But you don’t do them now, and you might make mistakes, but... you’re trying, right?”

_All I care about is who you are now!_

And Julian curses the darkness, because otherwise he might see a reaction - a ridiculous feeling given he still has his back to Garak, but he still feels unfairly exposed while Garak is hidden.

“And to hear you say that you don’t deserve me – God, that makes me furious.”

_You are trying to redeem yourself. I am simply trying to protect myself. You are the much better man in my books._

He needs to get this anger under control, too much of it is coming from Jules and not Julian.

“I didn’t mean to upset you—” And if Garak apologizes once more, he will scream, so he cuts him off.

“Well, that’s a first, You always seem to delight in tipping me over on my ear, in seeing just how much I can handle, you _never_ go easy on me, and then it turns out you’ve been lying to me all along – and now you’re telling me it was to _protect_ me? Well, I didn’t ask for that, I don’t want it, and if you _ever_ try to do it again, this is _done_ , are we _clear_?”

_Oh God, did I really just say that?_

Garak says something, but he doesn't hear it, because he can't stop talking now, even though he really, really should.

“Don’t deserve me, how _ridiculous_ , you don’t even _know_ me—” And his throat is closing up, and he is trying very hard not to cry.

“If there is such a thing as a good person, Julian, then you are a good person.”

_Julian isn't a person. Julian is a mask._

But what comes out instead is: “Do tell.” and his voice is dripping with bitterness.

“You care. You care more than anyone I’ve ever met. You open yourself to strangers, and you take their pain away. I couldn’t…”

_I don't open up. I tell them what they need to hear._

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Ah, yes, Julian Bashir, noble and kind and good, is that right?”

Oh, and how much he wishes it were so, and he should let Garak believe exactly that, he doesn't need another blow delivered so shortly after the last one.

“I would say so, yes.”

“Does a good person tell lies?” He should shut up.

“As I said, it depends on the context…”

“Right, because some lies are needed to protect other people. But what about lies to protect _yourself_?”

He should really shut up, and _why can't he_?

“It depends on the lie, I suppose. If what you’re trying to achieve is a greater goal than would be served by telling the truth, then it would make sense to lie…”

“And... if it’s not...?”

Well, at least he's shutting up, but somehow he has a feeling Garak won't let this go, now.

“My dear…” He starts “Do you think you are a bad person?”

_I am not sure I am a person at all._

“I don’t know what I am, Elim…” _Elim. Not Garak. Elim._ He is too tired for walls, and most definitely too tired for this conversation.

He can’t risk letting anything else slip, he has said far too much already.

“Maybe… do you know, I think I’m really just very overtired… Perhaps we could just get some sleep?”

He can feel Elim's hand on his shoulder, and he sighs, turns over a bit and rubs his cheek against it, and this feels nice, and right, and it still feels nice and right in the morning, when he wakes up and Elim is still asleep, peacefully.

He keeps watching him until he stirs. “Good morning, Elim”. He looks out the window, at the few wispy clouds in the sky. “It's going to be a beautiful day.”

And he cuddles up, and nestles in, and everything is fine — if only for a moment.


	3. Chapter 3

When Julian comes out of the bathroom, he heads straight for the kitchen and turns on the radio.

He turns up the volume as soon as he is sure he can hear Elim get up in the next room.

And Julian is dancing in place as he flips the bacon, and scrambles the eggs, and sings along loudly to avoid giving the lyrics too much thought – “ _And I said: “What about Breakfast at Tiffany's_ ...”

Elim sticks his head in the kitchen – Julian gives him a smile - but quickly flees to the porch.

That won't do.

He has this all planned out, after all – a day full of distractions, a reprieve from all their issues at home, and absolutely no time for overthinking anything.

He came way too close, yesterday, to reveal things that aren't meant to be revealed.

As he's just let the bacon slide onto plates, he takes the nearest cooking utensil he can find– a wooden spoon - and loudly bangs on the bottom of the pan.

“Breakfast is ready!”

He watches Elim, who is positively inhaling his food at a worrying speed, and a grin threatens to split his face open, because he can't remember when he had last seen his partner eat with such gusto.

This needs to be savoured, committed to memory.

Julian doesn't even try talking to Elim until he pushes away his plate and is looking very satisfied indeed.

“Good?”

“Mmm.”

“It’s good to see you eating,” He says honestly.

“It’s good to eat.”

Elim is leaning back in his chair now, he's relaxed, now they can begin.

Julian gets up and makes coffee, smiling at the smell, and brings out the trail maps – some printed out, some from his last trip here.

“I'm glad we won't get lost in the woods, my dear. Do you want to leave as soon as we get dressed?” Elim suggests.

“What? No! We have to plan where to go, first!”

“What do you mean? The trails should all look more or less the same?”

_Has he really never been hiking?_

“But don't you want to make the most of this? There are gorgeous lookouts here, Elim, this one” he points at a spot on the map “is right above the lake, and this one” He points at another spot “overlooks nearly the entire forest! And all the different trails! There are the educational ones, and there are the recreational ones … And we have to plan it out anyway, we need to know how much water we need, and if we walk that trail, we will definitely need sunscreen …” He stops mid-monologue at Elim's expression.

“Hey, aren't you taking this seriously?”

“Of course, my dear, I am. Why don't you make a suggestion?” And oh, he knows exactly that this is Elim Garak speak for not caring at all, simply indulging him.

And he starts suggesting one lengthy trail after another, gets more and more ridiculous, until Elim snaps. “Okay, fine. This trail?” He points at one. “It's a bit past the lake, I like that.”

_Finally._

“Sounds good. Off that branch to this lookout here and then back that way around? It will take a few hours, then, might be a late lunch.”

“We could bring a picnic to the lookout.”

Julian is pleasantly surprised at that.

He throws on some clothes, looks at his jacket and hopes it won't be too windy. He grabs the scarf, just to be sure, and marvels at the feel of the cashmere under his fingers.

Elim, however, is fully decked out, plaid and all, and the contrast to his usual satin and silk is very obvious indeed, though his clothes are nonetheless well-made. For a moment Julian wonders how much money he really left at the camping store, because of courseElim had paid when he was browsing elsewhere for a moment.

When Elim throws on the puffy jacket over it, he has to suppress a snort.

_Now I need to set just the right pace, fast enough we can't really talk, slow enough he won't get suspicious._

Which might get somewhat difficult, given how wet and muddy last night's downpour has left the forest, but he does his best, and it seems to work.

Elim is trailing a bit behind, and for a moment, Julian can't suppress the unbidden realization that he has a self-professed assassin behind him, in the middle of a lonely forest, but then, Elim offers up his hand to stabilize him for a particularly slippy hill, and he cannot reconcile those two images.

He simply gives him a smile.

_Would I even be missed if I were to disappear?_

Now that Elim seems content with not talking, they walk at a slower pace, soon rewarded with a gorgeous view indeed.

For a moment, Julian tries to do a bit of rough math on how many leaves he is actually seeing, then he decides to just enjoy the view.  
Watching Elim take in said view with a sigh, however, proves to be much more gratifying.

Julian smiles.

“Worth it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s eat.”

They unpack and Julian dangles his feet over the edge, nibbling on his cracker. He feels a bit childish, but for once doesn't mind. Elim does not look as happy with their position and soon scrambles back. Julian can't help but tease a bit:

“Playing it safe today, Elim?”

Elim tries to very much not be embarrassed, and it is adorable. “I think so. The view is just as lovely from back here.” He pats the ground next to him. “You could join me, if you like.”

_I won't let you off the hook that easily._

“No, thanks; I rather like living a bit dangerously.” He reaches for the grapes, and on a whim he throws one off the cliff just because he can.

The grape falls, first against a protruding rock, and then to the ground, and it is very much still falling, and he is counting seconds and mentally cataloging what those things would do to the average human body.

For a moment, he is frozen to the spot, then he decides the space next to Elim looks more inviting after all.

Elim, however, has other plans, and he suddenly finds himself pulled against the older man, back to his chest, arms protectively wrapping around him.

The Cardassian makes a sound of something, it is not pain, or at least so he hopes, and now he is nuzzling into his shoulder … what is this?

“Elim… are you all right?”

“I’m very well, thank you,” After he plants a kiss to his cheek, Elim lets him go.

Julian smiles widely as he turns to see him, because this is marvellous.

“Are you… feeling better?” He asks.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Elim sounds sincere.

“Well, that’s… that’s good, then.”

Julian smiles honestly, this time.

“I had no right, Julian. I had no right, and I am sorry.”

For a moment, Julian is confused. As he realizes what Elim means, he has to suppress a sigh.

So much for hoping this wouldn't get serious.

“To say the things I said to you. I cannot express my regret...”

Julian nods and swallows his piece of apple.

“It’s fine. You weren’t thinking straight.”

Another bite. Trying to seem normal. Just a bit of reassurance, then they can go back to enjoying each other's company.

“That doesn’t excuse my behavior.”

He'll have to be open, then, a bit more.

“You’re right. But I’ve already forgiven you for that, haven’t I?”

_You will say worse when you find out what I have been hiding. How I tricked you. I may be a well-practiced impostor, but I am not nearly good enough to fool someone with your training._

“Tell me more about what you were saying last night.”

Damn, does Elim read his mind? Deflect, deflect ...

“Not sure what you mean,”

“You were talking about bad and good.”

Julian tries smiling, Elim has to think this wasn't anything serious, because he is really not going to talk about this now.

“I think I was just tired. I was a bit over-wrought, to be honest.” He smiles right at Elim, now, but he has a feeling he is failing. “I’d really just rather leave it, all right?”

“No, Julian.”

“What do you mean, no?”

_Come on, don't push this, we were having such a nice day._

“I mean that I need you to explain what you meant.”

He will have to attack, then. “I’m not sure you get to make that kind of demand of me.”

“So you did mean something.”

“I was just overthinking, is all – and I don’t want to talk about it.” He looks away and curses himself for it.

“Last night, you said that I don’t know you.”

“You _don’t_.”

_You only know the mask._

“I think I do.”

“You think a lot of things that aren’t necessarily so, Elim.” He tries to make it sound like friendly banter, but fails miserably.

“That may well be true, but I think I have an idea of what it is you don’t want to talk about.” _Oh no you don't, not at all, and I will stop you right there_ , but Elim doesn't let him.“ No, don’t. Let me finish. If I’m wrong, tell me afterwards.”

Julian nods.

_You think too highly of me to come even close._

“You feel that you are telling some kind of lie. You feel that this makes you a lesser person, because the lie is not being told in service of a greater goal. You feel that if I truly understood this, or if others became aware of it, they would think less of you. Am I anywhere near the truth?”

That had … actually been a lot closer than Julian expected.

“Do you think you’d recognize it if you saw it?”

“You’re not laughing, nor are you shaking your head. I am correct.”

“What you are is intrusive, Garak, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Now why did he have the feeling that Elim – Garak – really didn't care?

“So you’ve said. But you need to.”

Something tightens in his chest and he lashes out.

“Don’t tell me what I need!”

“It seems someone must; you are not doing a very good job of determining it on your own.”

_And you would do better?_

“Perhaps I just don’t want you prying into my affairs! Have you considered that? Perhaps I just don’t trust you!”

_You've shown I can't afford to._

“You have every right not to trust me. But I care for you very deeply, my dear—”

“Funny way of showing it—”

_Poking and prodding._

“—and so I find it very difficult to sit here and pretend that all is well when I can clearly see in your face, in your manner, in your words that something is very, very wrong, and you are trying to make it disappear by pretending it’s not there at all.”

_No, No, No!_

“God, you can read me like a bloody book, can’t you!”

“I may be the only one who can.”

He clenches his fists hard. “That’s perfect, isn’t it. That’s just fucking perfect. The only one who knows there’s anything wrong is the one who...” _whom I need to keep it from the most._

“The one who caused it?”

He looks over. He was so close and is still so wrong? “That’s not what I meant...”

“But it’s close. Go on. Say what you need to say.”

But what is that, anyway?

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“I would think a medical student would know very well that sometimes one must hurt in order to heal.”

Julian has heard that one before, and he really does not like the memory, and he tries to push it down, but can't help being angry at Elim for triggering it.

_Calm down._

He rubs his eyes, stares into nothing.

“Look, I’m just… not what you think, all right? I’m not a good person. I’m lying to everyone.”

“What are you lying about?”

Oh no, he couldn't do this. Not like this.

But maybe some of it? Just enough to get some of that weight off his chest?

“Everything. This.”

_I was supposed to mold myself to whoever I talked to. Not fixate on one._

“Everyone asks me how you are and I say fine. They ask me how I am and I say fine, they ask how my weekend went and I say oh, it was good, did you see Garak, yes, I did, did you go somewhere fun, no, we just stayed in and I—” He stops himself, presses his lips together.

“I haven’t heard any lies yet.”

“You know damned well those are lies. You know all about lies.”

“I am something of an expert.”

“I’m not, though. I’m not a liar.”

 _It's not lying, Julian. You are becoming a Chameleon_ it echoes in his mind.

_At least I didn’t feel like a liar until you came along._

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, no, don’t start, don’t play games with me!” He hits the ground angrily and then feels childish. “I know what you’re going to say, and look, me being what people expect me to be is polite, it’s not a lie – that’s how people work.”

_It's how society works, is how I need to work to be part of it._

“I’m used to that. It’s never bothered me before and it doesn’t bother me now, so don’t waste time twisting my life to suit your examples!”

 _Now you **are** lying_ his mind reprimands him. _Jules is bothered very much indeed._

“You are worried, though, that you are becoming more like me. A liar, like me.”

He looks at Elim, not sure what he is feeling but feeling _something_ very strongly indeed.

“Did we not discuss, last night, how sometimes a lie can be a form of protection? What good could possibly come from telling everyone you know about my... difficulties? The knowledge would be of no use to them. Instead, you are choosing to protect my privacy. That isn’t a lie, my dear, not really. That is a selfless act.”

He curls up. This is the out he had been hoping for, but he just can't take it, and already Elim will be putting two and two together.

“That’s me. Selfless.” It won't take long now.

“My dear...” Elim hesitates. Now. Only a few seconds until it will all break down.“You were very kind to me, that night. You forgave me.”

_Wait, where is he going with this?_

“And?”

“And I find myself wondering what you might have said to me if you hadn’t done so.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He says. “Irrelevant now.”

“Dear me. You truly are a liar.”

Wrath roars in his chest.

“God, do you have to pry? Can’t you just... “

No, he can't give himself away, what was the plan?

_Give him enough he thinks he has you._

“you know what, fine, I am so fucking _angry_ at you! I – I trusted you so completely! God, I – all the waiting and faffing about that I did, it wasn’t for _fun_ , you know! I was waiting to be sure,”

_Sure Jules was safe with you, too_

“I needed to be sure, and then _this_ —”

He can't find the right words for it, so he stops searching.

“And I told everyone, _everyone_ that no, you’ve got him all wrong,”

_I was supposed to build the masks to suit the person I was talking to, not have one influence all the others_

“Garak is a nice man, he’s kind, he’s pleasant, he’s funny – do you realize, everyone I know said I was an idiot for getting involved with you?”

_It's not a smart move to stand up for the bullied kids, Jules, you will only be picked on, too._

“Every single person! Down to Rij, who’ll date just about anybody – even Jadzia took a while to warm up to the idea – and Miles, God, don’t even let me get started on Miles, and they were all _right_!”

He can barely breathe.

“Everyone I know, all of my friends”

_I like - liked? - myself when I am with them_

“– and I told them it was fine, I’d be fine, and now look at me, look at this mess, and what do I say? _Nothing_ , that’s what I say, because I’m a coward and I don’t want anyone to know that Julian Bashir, brilliant young fucking med student, was one hundred percent _wrong_.”

He couldn't let his carefully curated image be broken into smithereens for an assassin with a drug addiction that he was in love with, they would know ...

He doesn't know what to say anymore, and he looks at Elim now, not guarding himself for once “I am a liar, Garak. I’m lying to protect _myself_. It’s not about you. Maybe I told myself it was, once, but it’s not about you, it’s about _me_ and how, surprise, surprise, Jules has fucked it all up _again_ —”

_No, I didn't say that, please tell me I didn't say that_

“Jules...?”

“ _No._ ” He wants to beg Garak to forget he ever heard this name. “No, no, don’t you know enough about me already? God, do you have to know everything about my life? Leave it alone, can’t you? Just... just let it be, all right?”

But he won't, this man was an interrogator once, and oh God he loves him, Elim will have all his secrets, and then he will leave him in a discarded pile of hurt.

He curls up as tight as he can.

“Julian”

_So it begins._

He can't bring himself to move.

“Look at me”

Julian forces his head up. This needed to be over with.

“ _What?_ ”

“Would you consider talking about this with someone? Someone other than myself?”

Double-What. And what does he mean by “this”? Elim's drugs? Their relationship? Jules?

“Have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? I can’t—”

“You must. You can’t talk to me about this, not the way you need to.” What was this? Was this mercy?

He gets angry, irrationally angry now. “That’s a bit of a changed tune, isn’t it?”

_What happened to admiring me for protecting your privacy?_

“Please, Julian, listen. The loveliest thing about you is your honesty. Do you know that?”

And if that isn't the last nail in the coffin of their relationship, Julian doesn't know what is, and he gets angry again, but Garak doesn't give him the opportunity to speak.

“You don't hide anything about yourself, not really, not the things that count”

 _Oh Elim –_ Garak? Elim? _\- you have no idea._

“That draws people to you. It is a rare quality.” A pause. “I would hate to see you lose who you are in some kind of attempt to protect who you think you should be.”

And now he can't suppress a bitter laugh.

“Is that what I'm doing?”

“I can't be certain. I can only suppose.”

He presses his lips together, composing himself, watches insects on the ground and wishing fervently he could trade places, and finds his voice sounding bitter.

“And who do I tell, hmm? Who gets to hear our sordid little tale?”

_Which mask do I rearrange again?_

“I suggest Mr O'Brien.”

His brain feels like it just got a kick.

“Sorry, what, Miles?” Miles. Garak wants him to talk to Miles. The man who had been accusing Garak of taking advantage of him until rather recently.

_Just one of two points, Miles. Apparently, we've been using each other._

But Garak is _nodding._

“Why on earth would you want me to talk to Miles about this?”

“Because he is your best friend.”

True.

“Because he understands you, and you trust him”.

Maybe not as true.

“Oh, no, no -” he shakes his head, nearly panicking. “I could never talk to Miles about – about anything like this, this would be too strange for him.”

“Mr. O'Brien is a good man. Isn't that what you said last night?”

“Well, yes, I mean... yes, he is.” And he might be able to salvage things, with him. Miles is protective of him, he might be able to play at that. But … he finds he doesn't really want to play.

“And you trust him.”

“I do.” For a given value of trust.

“Tell me, do you trust him with your life?”

He looks up at Garak now, wondering what game he is playing now. “Are you serious?”

Garak is raising his brows expectantly, and Julian, absurd as it feels, actually thinks about it, the extent of his trust in Miles O’Brien.

Imagines himself in mortal peril.

A gas leak, perhaps, or a burning building, and he can’t get himself out. Perhaps he is unconscious. He pictures it and then puts Miles in the image.

His mental model of Miles does, without a moment of hesitation, drag him out of danger.

Huh.

“Yes, I suppose if it were ever relevant in any way, I would trust him with my life.”

“And I trust you with mine. Which is very, very relevant. So it follows that we can then trust him with both of ours.”

_Trusting him with my life does not mean I trust him with my secrets._

Julian can’t say that out loud, but he has to say something, voice his doubts.

“I’m... not sure that it does, actually.”

_Very eloquent._

“I am sure enough to ask you to do so. Please. For me.”

Wait. Garak – Elim – wants him to talk of his troubles to Miles of all people not for his, Julian's sake, but for Garak's own?

“For you? I don’t understand.”

“Then let me make it clear. You are trying to reconcile who you feel you should be with who you fear you are becoming.”

Unbecoming, more likely, but still dangerously close.

“That is impossible, my dear. Soon you’ll realize that you must either accept the change, or eliminate the thing that is changing you. That thing is me. And I do not at all wish to be eliminated.”

“I’m not – I’m not going to do that!”

He’s surprised at his own conviction, but it does make sense.

Being with Garak had felt closest he’d ever come to being himself. Jules. Julian. A hybrid, perhaps?

But maybe he could be that with Miles, too?

“I see. I’m reassured by that. I admit, I very much expected you to cut your losses and run, a few weeks ago. Can you truly say that you have never considered it?”

He has. Seriously. He has considered running, going elsewhere, building new masks, because that was really the only way. Telling new people he just needed a change of scenery. It wouldn't be the first time. But he didn't find it in himself to go. Somehow, he has gotten attached so much more to this place – Deep Dish Nine, the plaza, even Quark's – than he ever expected, than he should have ever allowed himself to.

But it is only now he realizes he never considered staying and still breaking up with Garak. He just can't. Which leaves the flight forward.

“My dear, I do not want to lose you.”

_And I don't want to lose my home. And without you, this isn't home._

He puts a hand on Elim's shoulder. Always Elim, now. Because he has made a decision.

“I can’t promise you anything about any of this.”

“Of course you can’t.”

Julian squeezes.

“ _Listen_. All I can say is that I’ll try, all right? I’ll try, and... I’ll talk to Miles. I don’t know...” _I don't know where to start._ “God, what he’ll say... but... I don’t know, maybe this was a mistake, but God knows I’ve made enough of those by now and I’m still here, right? So maybe...” _Maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I should._ “I’ll try. But I don’t know where this is going to go.”

“Neither do I, my dear. But I thank you anyway.”

_Don't thank me yet._

But a small smile finds his way to his face.

“You may regret this.”

“I doubt it,” says Elim, reaching for Julian's hand and squeezing it.  
  
They watch the trees sway in the wind in a silence that, for once, feels entirely comfortable.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating on Fridays from now on, since that's when I tend to do the editing anyway, so enjoy the early chapter!

For a moment, Julian is not entirely sure what woke him, or how and when he fell asleep in the first place.

He slowly remembers – they had returned from their hike, Julian had told Elim more about that disastrous family vacation, how Rania and him, unable to cope with their fathers shouting match, had taken off into the woods, and how they’d been packed back into the cars as soon as they’d been found, and it had been nice to share something like that for once.

Elim had shared a story of his own, and they’d merrily kept swapping anecdotes until they made it to the cottage.

Finally they had crashed on the sofa, cuddling up, too exhausted to even put their gear away.

Their pants – removed at Julian's insistence, “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that button is when I am trying to cuddle up to you?” - were lying in a puddle on the floor.

Then Elim twitches again, and he turns to look at him, and the man's face is torn into a grimace.

_Nightmare?_

He softly puts a hand on his partner's incredibly tense shoulder, but doesn’t dare wake him.

Elim’s eyes snap open anyway, but don't seem to focus on anything in the room.

“Ah – oh, mercies!”

“Elim!”

His flinch makes Julian wince, but something about it is off.

_He still isn't moving right. And he should be out of sleep paralysis by now._

It hits him before Elim even speaks. _Cramp. Damn_.

“My apologies, Julian, I’m – I’m simply – oh!”

He lowers himself onto the floor, feels for the leg, but wouldn't even have to, the muscles show prominently under the pale skin.

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“Yes-” Elim hisses and for a moment, Julian very clearly remembers the man in front of him is perfectly capable of killing, but he wills the thought away to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Shh, all right, relax,” He says as he is trailing the hardened muscle bundles with both hands now, searching for the right spots to alleviate the tension.

_There._

He grips a bit more firmly and Elim hisses again.

_Calm him down, first._

“Hush, Elim. Sometimes one must hurt to heal, right?”

_Gallows's humour, really?_

“Very clever, Julian – ah!”

_This is my fault._

“You overdid it today – nothing for weeks and then a hike. I should’ve known better than to drag you out for so long. And you didn’t drink nearly enough, did you... no wonder you’ve cramped up...”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

He frowns, but he guesses he deserved that.

“Do you want an ibuprofen or something...?”

The answer is predictable.

“No. No medication. Thank you.”

_Stupid, Jules, really stupid._

He simply nods, but still wants to do something.

“A warm bath would help.”

“You’ve talked me into it.”

He slides an arm under Elim's shoulders to help him up, and their eyes meet.

_Last time I tried that, you were furious … will you let me help this time?_

Elim is smiling and does let him help, and Julian feels warmed at that.

As he is mulling that over, he fiddles with the temperature, trying to find the sweet spot.

“How’s that?”

The older man somehow manages to look graceful while testing the water temperature and the smile only perfects the image.

“Perfect.”

He has trouble not to smile at the unexpected echo of his own thoughts.

_It is. All of it. We are positively domestic._

He wonders if he can take that one step further. He waits until Elim notices him undressing.

“I thought I might join you. If you think there’s room.”

_Nice one, nonchalant like that. Maybe even alluring._

“Absolutely. My tub is yours.”

Julian mimics one of Elim's little bows, smiling.

“After you, then.”

Elim climbs into the tub and is pulling up his legs to make room.

“No, keep them straight”

Julian climbs in, too, somehow finding enough space to sit between his partner's feet. Elim, by now, has leaned back and closed his eyes, his face slowly relaxing.

“Helps, doesn’t it.”

“I should know to trust you by now, shouldn’t I.”

_Ouch._

“As much as you ever trust anyone, I suppose.” He tries to make it sound like a joke, but fails.

Elm has opened his eyes.

“I do trust you, Julian.”

And that makes him smile at Elim, just a little, because he _believes_ him.

“I suppose you do, at that. Will wonders never cease.”

Julian gets to work, kneading the tension out of Elim's leg – wincing in sympathy at the other man's hiss of pain - massaging the muscle bundles until they relent under his fingers.

The rhythm he finds is soothing and he hums along as he works his way up, and up, and up, shifting positions carefully so he doesn't slosh water into his partner's face, and wonders whether to go further up still.

Why not?

He moves in on his target, giving Elim ample opportunity to stop him, but the tailor only opens his eyes far enough to look at him.

“Can I…?” He asks, and Elim nods. _Mission is go!_

He marvels a bit, silently, at how easily Elim surrenders himself, seeing testament to his assurances of trust, and gets to work.

At first Julian watches what he is doing, and it is a pretty sight, but soon he finds his eyes fixed on Elim's face instead.

Muscle memory guides his fingers as he watches the man's expression, gauging his reaction at every move he makes -  a twist here, a bit of pressure there, and the way Elim’s finger's clutch the tub's edges tells him that yes, he does still know how to do this.

Enjoying getting to watch Elim while he himself is unobserved he does not take his eyes off his partner until he comes.

For a moment, he considers pointing out how much of a mess his partner has made, instead he grabs a washcloth and cleans him off, leaning forward to kiss Elim in the process. He is rewarded with a smile that is positively besotted.

Not wanting to break the atmosphere of tenderness, he simply keeps running his fingers over Elim's skin, watching the goosebumps form. The tailor sighs, and Julian cannot help a chuckle.

“Feeling better?”

“Mmm. Better than what?” And Elim is still drowsy, nearly slurring his speech, which is very cute indeed, and his own smile widens.

“Than you did ten minutes ago.”

“Immensely. Incredibly.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Elim opens his eyes, now, silently offers to return the favour.

“Don’t even think about it. I owed you one.”

“I wasn’t aware this was a trade economy.”

“Shhh”

Julian knows it's not exactly eloquent, but it does the trick.

They enjoy lazing about in the water, and Julian, again, finds himself watching his partner.

_I think I will allow myself to trust. Whatever this is, I'm in._

Shortly after, Elim is draining the pasta for their dinner. It’s a practiced set of movement Julian has seen him do countless times - Elim is turning the pot away from himself as he pours the hot water out, puts it on it's own lid in lieu of a potholder, then shakes the sieve to make the excess liquid drip off.

Julian watches, asking himself where his resolve has gone.

“But … how do I know you are not lying? How do I know which of the things you told me are true? How do I even know you like pasta?” He sounds, and feels, pathetically young. 

In one swift movement, his partner sets down the sieve, pulls the pan with the blubbering sauce of the cooktop and turns the stove off.

He sits down next to him, tentatively offers his hand - which Julian accepts - and takes a deep breath.

“You don't. You'll have to trust me. I understand if it's too much to ask, but ...”

And something in Julian snaps, and he goes from forlorn to furious.

“If you want to get rid of me, why don't you just say so?” Elim looks shocked. _Caught in the act?_

“Are you giving me one out after another because you're too much of a coward to end it yourself?”

_What happened to you not wanting to be eliminated?_

“No, that's not at all… ” But Julian doesn't let him finish.

“Then stop it! Stop graciously offering me your forgiveness in case I decide to run! Do you think I value our relationship so little? Do you think I value you so little? I'm here, am I not?”

And Elim looks at him, soft and tender and fond, and how can he when Julian is very nearly shouting at him?

“Yes, you are” He says and smiles. “I still can't quite fathom why.”

Julian has to suppress the urge to scream.

“Will you cut it out already? You can't ask me to trust you and then mistrust my judgment when I try to do just that!”

They look at each other in silence, a staring contest, neither of them sure to what end.

“I do, definitely, like pasta,” Elim says, finally.

Julian can't help it. He laughs so hard he snorts, and Elim isn't much better, and it takes a while until they calm down again.

They lean back on the sofa, just looking at each other.

Elim's face turns solemn.

“What I was about to say was that while I understand that trusting me may be too much to ask now, I will do my best to prove to you it is justified.”

“Oh, and there I go and …” And now Julian is ashamed, because he's jumped to conclusions once more. “I'm sorry.”

“No, don't apologize. You were right. I do need to learn to trust this – to trust us – as well.”

Garak pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his temple.

In bed, it feels like they are stuck in a conversational loop, rehashing the same things over and over, with the occasional interruption for short moments of tenderness, reassurance.

_We are still here. We are still in this together._

When Julian is startled awake because Elim is shaking in his sleep, he softly rubs circles on his lover's back until he calms down again. But once he stops, it doesn't take long for the shaking to start anew, so Julian returns to comforting him, making soft noises and trying to convey to Elim that he is safe without waking him, because he has no idea what to do should Elim actually wake up.

_What if he doesn't even know he's doing this?_

A few hours later, Elim is awake before him, but Julian can't bring himself to suggest getting up just yet. Instead he curls up against his partner, listening to the raindrops softly pattering against the window.

The peace, of course, doesn't last.

There is a subtle undercurrent even to their still pleasant conversation during breakfast – quickly grabbed apples, eaten outside to soak up every bit of fresh air and sun they can get before returning to the city, but the sun soon hides behind the clouds, the rain that follows soaks through Julian's shoes, and it only goes downhill from there.

It starts small.

Garak is telling a story as they stroll through the forest, about attending culinary school in Betazed for a long-term observation mission, which nearly makes Julian forget all about the drizzle and the squelching in his shoes. But while he can definitely imagine Elim in a Chef's jacket, cutting some vegetable with precision, the last time the man told him stories of his days as a spy ...

“Is that what really happened?”

“What do you think?”

Julian is very aware he used to be very fond of exactly this game of verbal evasion. But right now he doesn't want to play the game, he wants to have a conversation with his partner.

“Do you have to do this?”

He meant to sound calm, not annoyed.

“Do what?” And Garak has the nerve to look innocent, but with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes, and what used to be so endearing is now anything but.

“Be your infuriating self.”

_That could have been worded better._

“Which self would you prefer?” Garak raises an eyebrow.

“The honest one. The one who actually answers my question.”

_If I have ever met him._ _If he even exists._ “The one who said he trusts me.”

“It's not a matter of trust, Julian, it's a matter of habit.”

Garak sounds sad.

Julian doesn't answer and Garak doesn't press.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the ten boys who had to suffer through the newest atrocity the curebie movement cooked up. 
> 
> It drove home just how much this story is worth telling - as of now, Complementing Baggage will update twice a week, on Wednesdays and Fridays. 
> 
> Today you get two chapters, since one of them is short for narrative effect.

Of course Julian is – on a rational level - very aware that ignoring an issue until it goes away rarely, if ever, works.

It still does not stop him from trying and failing.

Spectacularly, this time, because after not even half an hour of pleasant, meaningless chatter they arrive back at the very same issue.

Julian finally snaps.

“Can you, perhaps, spend five minutes of your time not being vague? Honest and open? Seriously, five minutes, is that too much to ask?”

Apparently he's hit a nerve because Elim actually starts shouting now.

“It doesn't exactly have an off-switch, Julian, I have lived like this for longer than you have been alive!”

“So silly little Julian just doesn’t get it, huh?” Julian winces at how shrill his own voice sounds.

“I am merely trying to make you understand ...”

He doesn't even want to know how Elim intended to finish that attempt at placation, so Julian interrupts.

“What you are doing is patronizing me at every turn!”

“Then why exactly do you put up with me at all?”

“Because I love you, that's why!” Julian shouts and thinks, for a moment, that this - on paper - must look very romantic, a passionate declaration of love in the rain, but those, he finds, are vastly overrated – it's wet. It's cold. He feels angry and miserable.

“Love is a promise, one I don't make lightly!”

“But haven't I broken my part of the promise already?” asks Elim,  the desperation in it is so evident that Julian can practically hear him think _Did I not throw everything away?_ and for a moment he tries, really tries to get angry at Elim, but he can't.

Elim is not doubting them – that much he realizes by now - but himself.

_He thinks he doesn't deserve to be forgiven._

He takes two steps forward and hugs him, hard, hiding his face in the shorter man's neck.

“Just nearly,” he whispers as Elim's arms wrap around him nearly as hard. 

For quite a while, they stand there, in silence, the rain slowly soaking through Julian's scarf, but he finds he doesn't care. All that matters is convincing Elim of the truth in his words. 

“I don't understand. I was horrible to you” Elim says softly.

“Yes, you were.” Julian knows there is no point in denying that. 

“And I wondered myself, for a while, why I didn't just go. But then I realized – you could have been so much worse. You could have locked the door on me. You could have refused to tell me where your stash was, or to delete the e-mail address. You could have … you could have taken the sleeping pills. Yet still, through all the horrible things you said, you cooperated, and that gave me hope that we could work this out.  
You could have refused to let me drag you out of that hole. And I would have walked out on you if you had. But you didn't – so I didn't. And here we are.”

“And I am immensely grateful for that. And I will do my best to … to exercise my honesty.”

“We should get going. We still have to pack,” Julian finally says, still reluctant to release him. 

Then realization dawns on him and he stiffens.

“What?” asks Garak.

“We never put the food away yesterday, did we?” 

“Oh dear.”

It's a mess, as they find when they get back. The unrinsed pasta is in a sticky, starchy block. The cream in the sauce has spoiled overnight. 

“If we reheat the pasta with some olive oil, we can throw in what's left of the vegetables we cut for the sandwiches. It would be … edible.” 

Edible, Julian thinks twenty minutes later, being the operative word here, but as this is the last they’ll get to eat until they make it back to the city, he still digs in. 

“We should get packing,” Julian says half-heartedly when he is done, because Elim obviously isn't going to. Elim's answering sigh tells him he's just as reluctant to leave. 

Instead, they once more lose themselves in conversation, empty plates in front of them, so oddly reminiscent of their lunches at the pizzeria that Julian half-expects Kira to interrupt them any moment.

When he realizes that, he thinks himself silly - as if they ever would have talked about anything quite this personal in public. 

“Nothing controls me, now. Not my former employers, not the pills. It is … hard to grasp,” says Elim just now, and Julian looks up at him, and finds himself envious.

It must be nice not to have a role to play.

Just how much resentment is coursing through him right now hits him like a brick, combined with the incongruence of it all. How he expects Garak to actually be himself – and the exact opposite from himself.

The realization, that eventually, something has to give.

Julian feels it buzzing under his skin.

A few far too short hours later, he watches Elim lock the door and throw the keys into the letterbox as he is climbing into the car, cursing that his legs are just a bit too long to get entirely comfortable.

Elim's driving, however, is impeccably smooth and rather relaxing. He closes his eyes, willing thoughts of anything to go away for a few minutes, and then just for a few minutes more, but he can only play this game for so long.

It is time to get started. But where? Right.

He takes out his phone, catches himself in humming along to the radio and decides there’s no harm in it.

He opens a new message, then closes it again, half-heartedly opens a game in a juvenile attempt at procrastination, but doesn't even finish the first level.

He clicks “New message” again. Leaves the recipient line empty, paranoid as it might be, because he does not want to accidentally send this before he is ready. 

“What time do you think we’ll be back?” Julian asks, telling himself it is a relevant question and not another attempt at avoidance, thank you very much.

“Mmm. Perhaps eight o’clock?”

“Right, thanks.” 

Julian has no idea how to even start this.

**are you free tonight? grab a beer?**

_No, not specific enough. I'll chicken out on actually talking that way._

He deletes it and is only too glad to let Elim’s voice interrupt him.

“Do you have plans?”

“I thought I might see if Miles is free tonight. Meet him for a beer or something.”

Julian is surprised at how confident he sounds when he is anything but.

“I think that is a very, very good idea, my dear.”

If only he could share that opinion, because he is worried this might be a terrible idea.

But he has agreed to do this, so he goes back to staring at the screen, willing the right words to appear on their own.

No such luck.

Maybe a more direct approach?

**garak was addicted to pain meds. his supply is cut off now, detox is through, he is okay, but i am not. can we talk?**

_Yeah … that's not gonna worry Miles at all._

Deleted.

**I need someone to talk to**

_Still enough to make Miles stage an intervention._

Deleted, and so are the next five attempts before he even finishes the third word.

He makes another attempt at the game, makes it to the third level before he goes back to the message window.

**remember when u said that thing about the maxwells? the taking things w you when u come back from war? u were incredibly drunk**

Deleted.

**when i was a kid**

Deleted.

**there are some things i never told u about that i need u to know**

And those messages are starting to sound a lot like things he should say to Elim, not ti Miles.

He can't seem to block out the sound of Elim's fingers, tapping along with the music on the gear shift, an unwelcome reminder that Elim is there, but not quite. But then, neither is he.

The distance is palpable.

Something has got to give.

When he looks back at his screen, he knows it is not Miles he needs to talk to – at least not yet.

He turns off the phone, puts it in the glove compartment, and takes one deep breath. If he overthinks this, it will just all go to hell again. It might anyway.

“Look. I… I need to talk for a little while, all right? Because I… there’s more going on here than you know about, and… look, I just need to tell you something, all right? And I need you not to say anything at all.”

And when Elim nods, he steels himself. This needs to be done. Elim opened up, it is his turn now, now matter how scared he is.

“Fine.” A sigh, deep and slow.

_Let him see Jules. He will decide what to make of it. Either way, you will know._

“I need to tell you about my parents.”

_But where the hell do I start?_

“They used to say Julian was too big a name for such a small boy, that I'd have to grow into it, so Jules I was. I was short for my age, and always a bit behind my peers. Aloof, maybe. My social skills were not as good as they should have been, my motor skills were even worse.”

He takes another deep breath.

“My parents ... They didn't like having a kid that didn't measure up. So they tried to explain it away in public – and punish me in private when I had not been behaving in a way they deemed appropriate for my age, hoping that would solve the problem. It of course didn't. When my pediatrician finally suggested I be held back a year to give me more time before I enter school … my mother cried.”

The memory hurt. He could still hear her voice, shrill and high-pitched in her despair, could still feel the shame of a little boy who knew he had somehow made his mother cry and had no idea how to fix it.

“Asked what she had done wrong, if it was something during the pregnancy, or when raising me. She was inconsolable. My father was angry, smashed a few things in the office. They finally agreed – and decided to use the remaining year to … fix me.”

Elim keeps giving him short, piercing glances before looking back at the road, but stays silent as promised.

_Come on, keep going._

“They found a treatment center willing to take me. Behavioral therapy. Some training for my hand-eye-coordination and motor skills, too. When I got home, my parents continued the exercises. Once, my father got to the great idea the reason I wasn't catching the ball was because I didn't have enough incentive. He threw a stone instead”

He touches the scar, hidden by his eyebrow, and sees Elim make the connection and press his lips together to keep silent.

“Sometimes I felt like I never saw anything but the center. I used to think I misremembered, but when I was 15, I found my old treatment plans.” He took a deep breath.  “At times, I was in therapy up to 40 hours a week”

He can sees the tailor's fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

“That was what my father and uncle argued about, at the cabin. My treatment plan. Because my parents still weren't satisfied with my progress. So they got me a spot at... at the Adigeon Retreat.”

Elim's knuckles are white, pure white.

_Wasn't the lawyer who finally got the facility shut down a Cardassian? Something with a G … Gamor, maybe? Back to business, Jules._

“My uncle didn't like the idea any more than you did, but my father was adamant. So shortly before my seventh birthday, we left for the retreat. I … I cannot talk about it much. Not yet, maybe not ever.”

Elim is nodding, still staring at the street.

“Some of the sessions I hated most they called … directed neural pathway formation.  Perfecting social response. Training through constant repetition. I had to have the same exact conversation over and over again. If they didn't like my answers, or how I delivered them, I was ... disciplined. When they finally did approve of what I said and how I said it, they made me repeat it. Sometimes for hours.”

Deep breath.

“Every therapist there called me Julian. I was only Jules when my parents were scolding me. Julian became an ideal to measure up to. Sometimes... sometimes I think there's nothing left of who I was, who I would have been before I went in there - they broke me and put me back together in a different order.”

He takes another deep breath, blinks back tears.

_It's out now. It's done._


	6. Chapter 6

Garak's heart is feeling like it is quite literally breaking as he slowly uncurls his fingers from the steering wheel.

_Have I really been so blind?_

Never before has he hated green traffic lights, but now they are forcing him to keep driving, to keep his eyes on the road.

He is reduced to stealing brief glances at Julian – Jules? - who seems finished for now, who laid himself bare and to whom Garak now has to prove he was deserving of that trust.

_I never asked about your parents because I didn't want to answer questions about mine. Oh Julian, I should have asked, anyway, maybe I could have taken away some of your pain._

Finally, _finally_ one turns red, and Garak turns to Julian as soon as the car has come to a full stop.

He raises an eyebrow, asking permission to speak.

Julian gives him a short nod.

Garak knows he needs to choose his words carefully, now.

“It would have been silly of me to think you had no baggage of your own. Everybody does. But I happen to think yours complements mine.”

And he holds his breath, hoping that those were the right words, and the shy smile on Julian's face is his answer.

It's a start.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, again, to Willdew for pointing out a rather embarassing mistake so I could fix it =)

“Upstairs?” Julian asks when Garak is maneuvering the rental into the parking lot.

Garak takes a deep breath. He had feared this, that Julian would try to isolate himself.

“Would you rather spend the night there?” Julian nods gratefully.

“May I accompany you?” The smaller, less comfortable mattress would be a small price to pay to avoid leaving Julian alone with his demons.

Julian looks at him, takes a few deep breaths, and Garak braces himself for rejection.

“I'll have nightmares.” He forces out, as if that was a deterrent, did he not realize that was the whole point? A horrible thought catches hold of his mind - what if this was the real reason for the nights Julian still spent alone? That he did not want to burden Garak with his nightmares?

“I assumed as much. You don't have to deal with them on your own.”

Julian stares up at him, eyes wide, as if he had never entertained this thought before, solidifying his suspicion - and Garak's heart breaks just a bit further.

“I'd like that, I think,” Julian says softly and leads the way to the building.

“Would you mind if I were to read a bit?” he asks as he unlocks the door to his apartment. “I'm all talked out. You're welcome to help yourself to my shelves.”

Garak smiles at that.

At some point during the last weeks it had become a guilty pleasure to grab a book that seemed like it has been reread often - even the science fiction, which he will only admit on pain of death, or if Julian actually asks - taking small solace in the fact that his partner had turned those very pages before him.

The book that Julian is getting of his shelf now, however, has not caught Garak's eye before.

It is old – there are stains, the pages are slightly discoloured, the garish colours of the simple drawing on the cover seem to be fading – but nonetheless well-cared for. He can't read the title from here. 

Julian pauses and chuckles. “It's just a comfort read, a kid's book, but I just realized it is … strangely appropriate.”  
Garak tilts his head, a wordless question, and Julian obliges him.

“In the preamble, the authors laments that he is often asked if what he has written has actually happened – he wrote a lot for children, after all, and children are curious. I think you will appreciate his answer.”

“Which was?”

“That it doesn't matter if it actually happened, what matters is whether it is true. And the story is true if it could have happened the way it is told.”

Now it is Garak's turn to chuckle. Especially the lies it echoes in his head.

“Do you have anything else by the author?”

Julian proceeds to pull six – no – seven books from his shelves.

A few hours later, Julian is standing in front of the bed and not getting in, and Garak is starting to worry.

They had, so far, spent all their nights together in the bigger bed in Garak's apartment, for practical reasons. They'd been in this bed together before, but, as Garak finds after a quick mental inventory, never to sleep.

“Would you rather spend the night downstairs? Or … alone?” It pains Garak to even make the suggestion, but he has to bring it up, in case him being in Julian's safe space is doing more harm than good.

“I do want you here, it's just ...”

Garak waits for a minute while Julian obviously tries to find his words, chewing on his bottom lip.

_What is he afraid of? A specific trigger I don't know about?_

His mind, unhelpfully, takes this as a cue to suggest possibilities, each more horrifying than the last.

“Just …?” He repeats softly.

“I need Kukalaka, my teddy bear. Without him the nightmares get worse.” Julian brings out in a single breath and Garak nearly laughs in relief. He stops himself in time, realizing being ridiculed is exactly what Julian is scared of – did he place it in the living room every morning to make sure no one ever noticed he actually slept with him?

“From the book shelf?” Julian nods gratefully and Garak quickly retrieves … Kukalaka and hands him to Julian.

“I've had him for … basically forever.” Julian is tender with the plush toy, and Garak can already see that the back seam is going to rip soon, it has been repaired before, but the old ends had not been woven in properly, and he would offer to fix it up, but … not tonight.

As Julian curls up on his side as usual – with the addition of the teddy bear – an idea strikes him.

“I'd like to try something,” Garak starts carefully. Julian looks up warily. “Would you scoot down a little?”

Julian obliges, and Garak gives into instinct.

Usually, he would tuck his bent legs against Julian’s like the proverbial spoons in the cutlery drawer.

This time, Garak takes his position higher, pulling Julian flush against his chest, ignoring their legs.

His head is high enough that he could peer past Julian's head, and his broader frame is completely shielding the younger man's back.

A protective hold around both Julian and his teddy bear.

_Let's hope this doesn't backfire._

Miraculously, Julian relaxes noticeably.

_He must still trust me more than I thought._

“Good?” Garak asks, still, to be sure.

“Very,” Julian answers, already half-asleep.

No nightmares at all would of course have been too much to hope for, despite all precautions, and that is how Garak finds himself awake and alert, standing next to the bed, scanning the unfamiliar room for both threats and potential weapons, for the first time in years.

His eyes fall on Julian and he has to suppress a few choice Cardassian curses. Julian is shaking. He has curled up tight - legs pulled up, back hunched, chin tucked in. Silent tears are running down his face from closed eyes.

Garak lays a hand on Julian's arm, as softly as he can manage, and Julian flinches, but still doesn't make a sound.

This is how soldiers cry. No noise to give away their position. Hunched to make the smallest possible target. This is not, this is never how Julian should be crying.

“Julian,” Garak implores softly now. “Julian, it is a dream. You are safe.”

Julian startles awake at that, thankfully.

And Garak wants to throw something when the first words out of his mouth are a meek “Did I wake you? I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize, my dear. You don't have to fight your demons on your own.”

Garak tries to project as much sincerity into his voice as he can, even as he is starting to wonder if he even has any weapons to bring to said fight.

The teddy bear has fallen off the bed, so Garak fetches it, handing it to Julian who still hasn’t quite stopped shaking.

Garak has never seen any pictures of Julian as a child – another hint, how had he been so blind? - but now he can see it, see a much smaller Julian clutch this teddy bear just like the adult one is doing now and wonders, for a moment, if he’d ever had something like it.

If he ever did, he must have been to young to remember it now – he certainly does not recall ever taking a comfort object with him into the closet.

Maybe it would have been easier in there if he had.

Maybe it wouldn’t have.

He shakes his head, banning the thought, back to Julian – Jules?

_There is still far too much I don’t know, how am I supposed to hypothesize without sufficient data points?_

A data point comes from a most unexpected source.

“It’s been years since I’ve seen them,” Julian says, sounding as small as he looks, curled up as he is. “Years. But I’m still so scared, I shouldn’t be this scared, I should be better than this,” and at that he starts sobbing again.

Garak places a hand on his back, exerting just the slightest bit of pressure – an invitation.

“Julian, love, it’s alright, I’m here.”

_I’ll kill them for you if you want me to._

“You shouldn’t” - a hiccuping sob - “shouldn’t have to coddle me like this. I should just grow up” - another sob - “and get over it”

Garak braces himself.

Anger is not what is needed here, much as he would find it easier to mentally catalogue body dumping spots.

Vulnerability it is.

Julian feels he isn’t allowed to accept comfort.

_Time to play dirty, then._

“It’s been over 25 years since my father last locked me in a closet and I still can’t stand tight spaces,” he says, carefully calculating the next sentence.

This might blow up in his face spectacularly, but he has no other ideas.

“Are you going to tell me to grow up and get over it?”

Julian scrambles into his arms at that, his voice stumbling over his rapid denials: “No, no, never, I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t-”

“See? So you shouldn’t be telling it to yourself, either,” says Garak, holding on to Julian tightly, and that is how they fall into a fitful sleep.

Early the next morning, after Julian leaves for his shift with a soft, sweet kiss goodbye, Garak returns the rental, walks back up to Julian’s apartment, and starts unpacking his bags.

He cannot help a smile when he finds the chocolates he is rather sure he did not pack, but feels a pang when he realizes Julian had found no opportune moment for them to share the sweets.

He takes them with him when he settles in in with his computer, having a feeling he might need them.

Garak has research to do.

He starts simple, typing “Adigeon Retreat” into the search engine, and goes on from there.

Newspaper articles, archived News coverage, public court records of every lawsuit against them, and finally reports from former patients including two autobiographies and a tell-all from one of the nurses.

He purchases the eBooks on general principle, then continues searching.

The waybackmachine yields even more results, including the retreat's own old homepage and advertisements, which make him nauseous.

This is for Julian, so he powers through.

For a moment he considers throwing together a database to later search, but decides that would be overkill.

He simply groups everything into several windows by category, grateful for his laptop's processing speed.

When he is satisfied he's turned up everything he can, he starts skimming to see where he should dig deeper and bookmarks some pages for later, thorough reading.

For now, he wants a better overall idea of what he is dealing with. When familiar name catches his eye, however, he loses himself in the details.

There had been, apparently, four malpractice suits against Adigeon Retreat inc, all on behalf of or by former patients.

Three of them had failed, and no Federation lawyer was willing to take up any case against the Retreat after that.

One desperate family went abroad in search of a lawyer, and eventually found a Cardassian willing to take the case.

When he hears the key turn in the lock, Garak considers, for a moment, to turn on his bookkeeping program and claim he'd been working on that, but decides against it and instead finishes reading the article on the attorney who had embarrassed the legal team of Adigeon Retreat to the point that, as he quickly finds out, all of them changed their profession and some their names.

Julian comes up to him, wrapping his arms around Garak from behind, peeking over his shoulder.

Garak stiffens for a moment, then finds a kiss pressed to his cheek as a hand sneaks past him to steal a chocolate.

Julian isn't angry, then.

“He didn’t exactly age gracefully,” Garak says, nodding towards the photo of Alon Ghemor. An exercise in honesty.

“You know him?” Julian asks, chocolate abandoned.

“We actually went to school together. Back then I of course didn't know his name. We got designations instead – he was Five Lubak, I was Ten.”

Julian inhales as if about to launch into a million questions, but then stops himself and takes a few more breaths before he starts speaking.

“Do you think, maybe ...” His hesitance is obvious. Garak stays silent, waiting.

“Do you think you could find a way I could send a Thank you-note to him? I wanted to since I first heard of him, but many people weren't exactly happy with him after … well, after.”

He nudges Garak to the side to reach the keyboard, quickly searching a few keywords obviously from memory, and pulls up several articles, some of which Garak had already bookmarked before –

Threats from the doctors who had been professionally ruined.

The superintendent’s suicide.

An assault on the street by two former board members, several broken bones on both sides.

Finally a bomb at the law office, only sheer luck preventing more than minor injuries.

“I obviously couldn't find a contact address,” Julian concludes.

Garak considers it.

He offers Julian the seat next to him, nudges the chocolate box in his direction.

Julian takes one, but makes no move to eat it, just looks at him, cautious hope in his eyes, and Garak’s decision is made.

Here is something he can do.

Here, in this, there is a way for him to use his skills to heal instead of hurt.

Unbidden, the realization rises in his mind that Tain would be horrified, would think he was squandering his talents.

_Good._

Garak begins to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, once more, another chapter right away!


	8. Interlude

When Alon Ghemor – and he still thinks of himself thusly, despite the fact he does not conduct business under the name anymore and has not heard it spoken aloud in years - steps into his study, he immediately realizes something is _off_.

Soon enough, a crystal tumbler on his desk and an empty glass next to it are identified as the aberration.

The amber liquid catches the evening sun beautifully. It would, under other circumstances, not be an uncommon sight. He – well, his new work persona - is known, after all, to enjoy a drink or two at the end of a week of hard work.

The problem is that he did not put the tumbler there, and, as he looks closer, it isn’t one of his.

He scans the rest of the room for potential weapons - plenty - and further signs of an intrusion - none.

Far too clumsy for an attempt at poisoning him – any assassin worth their pay would have added an illicit substance to one of his own whiskeys, avoiding any hint of something out of the ordinary.

Whoever had put this bottle on his desk wanted him to notice it was there.

A distraction, then, eating up valuable brain capacity to slow his reaction time?

If someone had wanted to ambush him, there were far easier locations than his own home.

He finally takes a few careful steps closer, a hand on the dagger he still keeps on his person, and sees a note which had previously been blocked out of his sight by the tumbler.

Two sets of handwriting, one of which he recognizes immediately, even upside down and at an angle.

His estimated chances of survival, should this be an ambush, have just dropped considerably.

The hand around his dagger tightens as he quickly closes the distance to the desk and actually reads the note.

_Thank you!_

_an Adigeon Retreat survivo_ r

Then, underneath, added with Alon's own fountain pen:

_You really need to upgrade your security._

_Ten Lubak_

Alon wonders, for a moment, when exactly his old schoolmate had gone freelance as he carefully lifts the fountain pen to examine it.

He allows himself a smile.

No finger prints.

Obviously.


	9. Chapter 9

Julian’s heart is still beating hard and fast as he drives them back to the city in the light of the rising sun.

Playing getaway driver for a break-in had never been a role he had envisioned himself in. Too boring.

How wrong he had been.

Waiting in the car while Elim broke into the house had been both exhilarating and agonizing, and not jumping Elim as soon as he had climbed back into the car with a self-satisfied grin on his face even harder.

Instead Julian had to actually _drive_.

Half the way back he had behaved himself.

He however only has so much self-discipline - and after all, why shouldn’t he have a bit of fun with this? He was on his way back from a secret mission which was hardly legal, had gone off without a hitch, and also done no actual damage whatsoever, and damnit, Elim unpacking skills Julian had only known about in theory before had been fucking hot.

Julian doesn’t at all bother being sneaky about it. He simply places his hand on Elim’s thigh, and, hearing no protest, starts drawing slow circles on the fabric of his pants with his fingers, upwards and upwards, as he keeps his eyes on the road and tries not to smile too obviously as he hears Elim breathe faster.

Now that was just too easy.

And just as a finger brushes what he had, originally, considered his target, he moves to the side instead, raking his fingernails over the fabric covering Elim’s inner thigh.

“You might want to pull over,” Elim gasps, finally.

“Oh, but are we sure we’re far enough by now?” Julian asks in mock concern.

“Pull. Over.”

Julian complies only too gladly.

He barely manages to turn off the ignition before Elim nearly pulls him out of his seat in his attempt to get his hands and lips on Julian for a very thorough kiss.

“I am going to have to invite you to such activities more often if it brings out _that_ side of you”

“And here you thought all those James Bond movies didn’t teach me anything,” Julian quips, trying very hard to keep his voice light and joking instead of dissolving into a groan as Elim’s clever fingers now find his thighs.

“I may have to rewatch them after all”

They stop speaking for a while after that.

“You know,” Julian finally says between slow and sweet kisses, “Keiko has been talking about having dinner together, all four of us.”

He had never been quite sure whether had invitation had been genuine or for politeness’ sake.

Both times she had brought it up, Miles had looked like he had bitten into a lemon before bringing out a forced enthusiastic agreement.

Either way, he was rather sure if they did take her up on it, _she_ wouldn’t back out.

He tries to clear out the thought, presses another kiss to Elim’s lips.

“And you were right in that I could use some more support – well, really, we both could”

“That sounds like a very good idea, my dear,” Elim says, running his fingers over Julian’s cheek with a smile.

“Any particular evenings you need kept free?” Julian barely finishes his question before he has to suppress a wince. It’s not like Elim has a full calendar.

Elim, however, just keeps his tender smile, though it turns a bit sad.

“They’re all yours to do with as you please.”

“Don’t make me an offer like that, I might take you up on it,” Julian drawls, trying for a leer but his heart isn’t in it.

He slowly moves back into his own seat.

“We have to be careful about how we handle this. With the O’Briens,” he says.

“How so?” Elim asks, an eyebrow lifted.

“We have to go slow with this. Miles still doesn’t trust you.”

“Doesn’t trust me in general, or doesn’t trust me with you specifically?”

“Both, probably,” Julian says sheepishly, sitting forward again to avoid looking at him.

“We should introduce ...” and he has trouble saying it “my problems first. Let them see you be supportive of me before ...” again, he finds himself tongue-tied.

“Before we ruin any chances at their approval of me with the fact I’m both a former operative and a recovering addict?” Garak finally suggests wryly, and the words seem to stand between them, filling the air in the car, and Julian lets his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes, taking deep breaths.

“We should get home,” Garak finally says.

Julian nods and starts the car up again.

They travel in silence, and by the time they get back to the strip mall, the familiar glowing sign of the pizza shop greeting them, any remaining thrill has fled, and Julian is trying and failing to figure out a believable pretence for calling Keiko instead of Miles.

Elim had just managed to let Julian fulfill his dream of finally being able to give a thank-you note to the man who had managed to get the Adigeon retreat shut down - and he can’t manage a measly social interaction.

But … wait. That was it, wasn’t it.

Elim had done him a gigantic favour.

Time to perhaps give him a small gift in return?

As the clock approaches a reasonable time for a call, Julian sits down on the couch, wording things and trying out phrases in his head while he twirls the phone about with one hand and clutches Kukalaka with the other.

Then he watches the hand move on the clock, ticking second by second away, and he simultaneously wants it to slow down and speed up.

Finally he actually dials.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Keiko O’Brien”

“Hi, Keiko, it’s me, Julian,” he says and already feels terribly awkward.

“Did Miles forget to charge his phone again?”

He runs his fingers over Kukalaka’s fur, following the seam on his back with a fingertip, finding the small bump where he had tried to hide the knot of the thread he had fixed him with.

“No, it was actually you I meant to talk to.”

There, that had sounded positively confident.

“Oh?”

Now the next bit.

He had _labored_ over the next bit, getting it exactly right.

“Elim’s had a hard couple of days lately -”

“I saw the sign on his shop, is he alright?”

“Yes, he’s getting better, but I’d like to give him a nice surprise, give him something else to focus on for a bit -”

“That’s sweet of you! But where do I come in?”

_I would have told you already if you weren’t constantly interrupting me._

He stands up, starts to pace, having to release the nervous energy bouncing around in his system somehow.

“Well, he used to be a gardener, and he misses it, and I thought you might have an idea for something that could actually survive given how few windows he has in his place”

“He lives right next to the laundry room, doesn’t he?”

Julian winces, remembering how Elim had once told him he overheard conversations between Miles and her, and firmly reminds himself not to mention that at dinner, should he ever manage to actually schedule it.

“Yeah, he does.”

“So barely any natural light to work with, then. There are a handful of houseplants that you should be able to find at a decent market that should survive in the basement as long as they are watered enough.”

Julian cringes. He hadn’t even considered that. If Elim wanted a plant like that he could have gotten one ages ago, that was so obvious, he was so - Well, the pretense worked, at least, time to get that dinner arranged.

“Have you considered hydroponics?” She asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“You grow plants mostly on water in specialized planting mediums, often with specific lighting.”

That … sounded _expensive_.

“Miranda, a friend of mine, converted a basement lab into a giant hydroponics setup, mostly growing fruit and vegetables because that’s what she’s got her research grant for, but also a few private projects, orchids -” - Julian’s pulse suddenly picks up, he bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, and the wait to the end of her sentence is _agonizing_ “ - and calla lilies mostly, so it’s definitely a feasible option for decorative plants, too.”

“Orchids? Elim used to grow orchids! Said he can’t give them the proper attention here.”

“Apparently it’s easier if you grow them hydroponically – less issues with water and nutrients. This isn’t my field of expertise, though. You know what, I’ll give Miranda a call. She mentioned she’s upgrading, maybe she’ll be willing to part with a few things?”

Julian’s head is reeling, this was not how he expected this to go, but in doubt, be polite.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“No problem, I’ll call you when I know something?”

“Could you text instead?”

“Right, you meant to keep it a surprise.”

“Exactly.”

Julian takes a breath, feeling accomplished.

Then he remembers the actual reason he called, so he scrambles, he’d already drafted the phrasing, where was it, where was it ...

“Does that dinner invitation for me and Elim still stand, by the way?” He finally brings out.

“Of course! You really are determined to take his mind of things, aren’t you?”

 _Oh, if only. That would be far less daunting._ He nearly loses himself in brooding when Keiko’s voice snaps him out of it.

“Friday night, our place? Eight? Molly’ll be in bed by then”

He pauses a bit, making it seem like he’s consulting a calendar, because their nonexistent social life is just depressing.

“Should work.”

“Great! I’ll text you as soon as I know something.”

So, now how does one politely end a phone call again?

“Thanks again. Talk soon. Bye!”

“Bye!”

The call disconnects.

“That went well,” Julian says to Kukalaka, feeling dead tired but victorious.

Over the next few days, he feels jittery, bouncing about with nervous energy finding no real outlet.

He tries researching hydroponics and quickly goes green at the prices he finds.

Every far-off sound sounds like his text message alarm, and when he has the phone on silent, he feels phantom vibrations and checks it over and over.

By the time she actually gets back to him, he has gotten so used to it it takes him a moment to realize that it actually is a text message, not another false alarm.

**Miranda is willing to part with her old equipment, but she wants to meet you first - Keiko**

Before he can even process the message his phone pings again.

**Do you or Garak have any allergies? I forgot to ask when we were on the phone. - Keiko**

For a moment, Julian asks himself whether she seriously signs every last one of her texts.

Then he feels a rush of _something_ as he realizes that dinner is actually going to happen. A part of him had been doubting it, half-expecting polite excuses to cover the fact Miles refuses to sit at a dinner table with Elim Garak. A smaller part, he is ashamed to admit to himself, had been counting on it.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he shoots a message back.

**no allergies we know of, looking forward 2 dinner w u guys**

Then he takes a moment to quietly hyperventilate before actually addressing the first message.

Well that was going to go to hell, he might as well make it spectacular.

**I’m ok w meeting her**

**when and where?**

Which is how he finds himself in a coffee-shop just off campus, looking for “an obvious Prof, but with blue hair, you really can’t miss her.”

He looks around, surprised to find a pair of eyes watching him.

Tweed blazer with elbow patches, blue hair pulled back into some kind of bun, and lifting her hand in a short wave. Bingo.

“Keiko really wasn’t kidding,” she says in lieu of a greeting as soon as he is within earshot.

“I suppose she gave you some kind of description too?” He asks and prepares for the worst.

“All gangly and eyes like Bambi.”

He had _not_ been prepared for that and can’t quite stop himself from grimacing, but she gives him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, you’re cute.”

Julian is not quite sure how to take that from a woman whom he’s meeting to convince her to help him with a surprise for his partner, so he busies himself sitting down, realizing he has no idea how to actually address her.

She’s the friend of the wife of a friend.

First name because that’s what Keiko used?

Or does the fact he is a student while she is a Professor take precedence, with so many degrees of separation?

Maybe he can kill two birds with one stone, finding out and convincing her he has some manners.

“Hi, I’m Julian,” He says, holding out his hand.

She shakes his hand without any hesitation.

“Miranda.”

While he wonders what kind of smalltalk is expected in this situation, and whether he’s waiting too long to initiate it, the waitress interrupts to take their orders.

He picks something on autopilot, while Miranda chatters along with the waitress, who obviously recognizes her and throws Julian curious looks.

“So, tell me about this boyfriend of yours,” Miranda demands as soon as the waitress finally leaves.

Julian launches into what he has privately thought of as his sales pitch.

“Well, he used to garden in Romulus, growing orchids, and he’s missing it and he said he couldn’t quite pay orchids enough attention here, but according to my research, growing orchids hydroponically is supposed to take a bit less work, so ...”

“Stop,” She says, cutting him off with a concertmaster-like gesture, and his heart drops to the floor.

He’s blown it already.

_Must be some kind of record._

And there the waitress is again, with their beverages, and he smiles and nods and thanks her while wishing the ground would open up to swallow him whole.

Julian starts stirring a bit of sugar in to his cup, wincing at how terribly loud his spoon sounds. Wonders how quickly he’ll be able to drink his without it looking too conspicuous as Miranda interrupts his train of thought.

“I know he’s qualified;” She says. “Keiko already told me that much. Tell me about _him_.”

“He’s amazing,” Julian says without thinking, and Miranda smiles indulgently. “He was the first person I’ve ever had who actually liked … all of me.”

With a rush of shame, he realizes just who he’s talking to.

“Don’t get me wrong, Miles is a good friend, we have a lot in common and lots of fun together, but he’s annoyed by some things.”

He gives her a self-deprecating smile.

“My tendency to babble when I’m nervous. That sort of thing. But Elim ... Somehow he seems to find all my faults endearing instead of annoying.”

“You’re not used to having people in your corner, are you?”

“Not … not like him.”

He looks down, not wanting to see her pity him, but she doesn’t say anything, seems content to wait for him, just like a few minutes ago, and forces himself to look up, into her face, where he finds only warmth.

“Don’t worry. I know what it’s like. Still have a restraining order against my father.”

Julian’s jaw hits the floor.

_How?_

How had she figured him out so quickly?

“How can you just … say that? Just like that?” and then realizes how accusatory he must sound, and he hastens to keep talking, somehow mitigate the damage “It took me months, months to even start considering telling Elim some of it and here I am, a perfect stranger, and you just tell me?”

“You’re not a perfect stranger. You’re a friend of a friend, and well … if you know what to look for, it’s obvious what we have in common.”

Julian flinches.

“I don’t think Keiko knows, if it’s any consolation.”

“No. They don’t know. Yet. Working up to that. So if you could ...”

“No outing you, capiche. No worries.” Julian feels like crying from relief, but she isn’t finished.

“I’ll give the stuff to Keiko, she can use the department car to bring it home.”

For a moment, Julian doesn’t even remember what she’s talking about, what the original point of this meeting was, so caught up in the conversation.

Then he realizes that he, somehow, did it.

“What do I owe you?” He asks quickly, unwilling to give her a chance to change her mind. This is where it stands or falls.

“If you ever run into another baby survivor and you’re in a position to help them, pay it forward.”

Julian blinks, wanting to object to that descriptor while knowing it is somewhat accurate, when he fully processes what she’s said.

“You don’t want money?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the p.

“But ...”

“No buts,” she says firmly, cutting him of mid-protest and Julian closes his mouth. Then her eyes shift, from his face to a point above his shoulder.

“Oh dear, is that the time? I’m ten minutes late to a lecture I’m supposed to be holding!”

She starts digging around in her bag, pulls out her wallet, and puts a banknote on the table.

“This should cover it.”

Then she jumps up, kisses him on the cheek, and leaves without saying another word of goodbye.

Julian sits in his chair in complete and utter confusion, lifting a finger to his cheek.

Then he actually looks at the banknote. Plenty enough for both their drinks – and a generous tip to boot.

When he pays, he adds a smaller banknote of his own, tells the waitress to keep the change and watches her face brighten.

He feels lighter, somehow, when he leaves, and this lightness doesn’t quite leave him the next day, either.

Sure, he is fretting a bit about the upcoming dinner, but not nearly as much as he might have before this.

And indeed, the dinner starts out perfectly pleasant – Elim and him arrive right on time, presenting a small bouquet of yellow roses and orchids to Keiko, who is obviously delighted and finds a moment to give Julian a conspirational smile.

The fish the O’Briens serve is amazing, and neither Julian nor Elim are stingy with compliments between bites of it.

Miles is obviously glad to see him – Julian had been somewhat distant lately, he must admit - and scrupulously polite, if somewhat stiff, in his smalltalk with Elim.

Keiko appears to be ready and willing to include Elim in the warmth she had always shown Julian, treating them both as, dare he think it, potential close friends, and with an openness that takes him by surprise, and while Elim seems to handle it effortlessly, Julian thinks he can detect some astonishment carefully hidden under his partner’s positively cordial exterior.

This might actually work.

Which is, of course, when Elim deviates from the plan.

“While Julian helped me through the withdrawal from the pain medication I was addicted to, I learned he was abused as a child. We would appreciate support you are willing and able to give us while we are trying to recover.” Elim says as soon as he puts down his cutlery.

Julian's head, still bent to cut the last piece of fish, snaps up and his heart skips a beat.

“Of course” Keiko says softly, reaching out to squeeze Julian's hand for a moment and giving Elim a nod with a warm smile before pointedly looking at her husband.

“And you said I would make a dreadful date” quips Miles, though it sounds a bit forced, he still looks at Julian and tries a half-smile.

Julian stares first at Elim, then Miles, then Keiko and back at Elim again and drops his knife and fork. He can feel his breathing quicken and tries to force it to slow down again but it's too much, and he pulls his legs up on the chair to grab onto them and bury his face between his knees and fuck, is he _sobbing_?

Elim has slipped off his own chair and is now crouching next to Julian's, a hand on his leg, mumbling apologies.

“I'm sorry, I thought this would be easier, but I should have stuck to your terms, I'm sorry” Julian hardly hears any of it.

He can tell Miles is first muttering something and then getting increasingly louder, and Keiko is talking as well but he can't make anything out with his heartbeat and breath and the thrice-damned hiccuping sobs filling his ears.

A voice from an entirely unexpected direction finally makes him look up.

“Mommy, what's going on?” Molly asks, leaning in the door frame and rubbing her eyes with one hand, the other clutching a doll. “Why is Julian crying?”

_Pull yourself together, Jules, she's five._

“I'm not crying” He says - or rather tries to say because one of those traitorous sobs is getting in the way.

“Don't be silly! There's nothing wrong with it, you know? Sometimes emotions are just too big for our bodies and then they need to get out” the girl explains with all the grandeur and dignity only a five-year-old can muster, her resemblance to her mother striking.

She steps up to him and holds out her doll.

“Here, you can borrow Lupi. He's good at this kind of thing.”

Which is how Julian now finds himself sitting in his best friend's apartment holding onto a Bajoran doll, which is surprisingly comforting. Lupi is no Kukalaka, but still.

“No, that won't do.” Molly says gravely now, her father’s brogue peeking through. “You still look far too sad. Seems like we'll need a blanket fort.”


	10. Chapter 10

“In a corner? On what grounds?” Miles' voice is filled with indignation.

“Defensibility?” Elim says with his best derisively raised eyebrow.

“In case of an attack we'd be pressed against two walls and easy picking!”

“While in the middle of the room we'd easily end up surrounded!”

“... and who exactly are you two expecting to attack in our living room?”

Despite the rather convincing chiding tone, Keiko's twinkling eyes are betraying her amusement.

“It's a matter of principle!” Miles protests.

Julian finds himself dragged first to the master bedroom, then Molly's own room, collecting blankets and sheets and pillows and stuffed animals until he can hardly see where he is going anymore.

When they return to the living room Keiko looks somewhat smug and a rudimentary structure out of the sofa and the dining table has been erected at one wall.

Molly walks around it, inspecting carefully.

Finally she announces: “No, we need to move the table”

Julian blinks in surprise when Elim is the one responding first.

“Where to?”

“Pull it from the wall, so we can put the entrance there.”

“Excellent point, that way there won’t be a direct line of sight from the door,” Elim praises her and drags the table with perfect obedience where she directs.

“Now the chairs,” Molly demands, and again Elim complies, collecting them two at a time, stopping to commend her for her foresight, because now that the table has been pulled back from the wall, the edge of table and sofa line up so the gap is easily closed with the chairs.

Julian is slowly developing a crick in his neck from peering past his load but cannot bring himself to stop staring, completely entranced and not quite able to put his finger on the reason.

The whole situation feels surreal. A former spy and assassin answering to the whims of a child.

That must be it.

A huff behind him finally snaps him out of it - Miles looks _pissed_.

Right. Elim had rubbished his every thought and then proceeded to compliment the tactical cunning of his five-year-old daughter.

But was it a deliberate insult?

Miles, ready to believe the worst of him already, would think so, especially given Elim’s previous teasing.  

Julian wishes he could say with confidence that Elim would never go that far, never drag a child into something like this.

But yesterday he also would have – with that very same confidence - claimed Elim agreed with his strategy for handling this dinner, or would at least stick to it, and he hadn’t.

Doubt is gnawing at him.

He is pathetically grateful when Molly interrupts his train of thought by telling him to put down the pile he is holding.

“Now, we need all the sheets and most of the blankets on one pile,” She says, already busily starting to sort, dwarfed by the mass in front of her, “but the big blanket goes right into the fort with the plushs and the pillows.”

While Keiko collects the blanket Julian vaguely remembers came from the master bedroom, folds it up, and puts it down in what is going to become the fort, Julian finds a moment to look at Miles again, who now has a soft smile on his face as he is watching his daughter. Noticing being observed, however, he looks up at Julian. One corner of his mouth pulls up, turning his smile wry, and he shrugs.

Might as well play along.

He scoops up the pillows and plushs – nearly dropping the whole thing when Elim pulls one last sheet from it – and dumps them on top of Keiko’s folded blanket, and then watches as Keiko and Miles, with practiced ease, cover the entire construction in sheets and blankets.

“So, Molly,” Says Elim; “Now where do we put Julian so he’s best protected?”

Molly puts her hand on her chin as she thinks, a gesture so reminiscent of Miles that Julian can’t help smiling.

“I … don’t know,” She finally admits, looking somewhat ashamed.

Elim, however, only crouches down next to her.

“If someone is going to come in, which part of the blanket fort do they first see?”

Molly runs to the door and turns around. “The short side with the chairs.”

“Do you think that where they’d try to get into the blanket fort, or would they search for the entrance?”

He’s really trying to make her think.

Was this maybe just how Cardassian thought childhood education should work? Instilling tactical awareness at as young an age as this? Was this what _Elim’s_ childhood had been like? He had mentioned early instruction by a family friend at some point, hadn’t he?

“Getting the chairs would be faster,” Molly finally decides, earning an approving smile from Elim.

“Exactly, they’d have to walk around both sides to find the entrance, so the short side is the most likely avenue of attack, if Julian sits there, he’s easily found.”

“So we put him at the back.”

“But what if our enemies send an agent to find the secret entrance anyway?”

“Mhm ...” Molly is lost in thought again.

“How about a guard?” Keiko finally weighs in. “They could only send one agent to find the entrance, more would be too loud, so one guard should be enough.”

Molly looks at Elim, who just looks back at her, waiting for her decision.

“Yes that’s what we’ll do,” She finally says.

“I’d humbly like to volunteer for the duty,” Elim says, with a deferent little bow.

Molly, at that, just looks confused.

“He means he wants to be the guard,” Miles explains, shooting Garak a somewhat dirty look, probably for making Molly deal with too many big words.

“Okay! You can be the guard!” Molly just says brightly. “So, first Mommy and Daddy go in, then me, then Julian, then you.”

As Julian watches Keiko, Miles and Molly crawl into the blanket fort through the entrance that is now mostly hidden with sheets and wonders whether they’ll actually all fit, Elim vanishes for a moment and then returns, handing him the doll he had set down when he went collecting building materials with Molly.

“After you,” he says then, as if he was holding open the door to a restaurant instead of holding onto a piece of sheet so Julian could crawl into a literal blanket fort built at the behest of a five year old when what was supposed to be a pleasant if somewhat awkward dinner went to hell.

He stops trying to wrap his head around the situation and just complies.

“You really need your own doll,” Molly explains earnestly as he settles in next to her and she leans into him as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “You can keep Lupi for today, but what if I’m not around?”

He runs his fingers over the fabric of the doll’s clothes, wondering how to respond to that.

Well, wasn’t today supposed to be about being more open with Miles and Keiko?

“I have a teddy bear at home. He usually does this sort of thing for me. His name is Kukalaka,” He finally admits, staring at Miles as if daring him to say a word about it.   
Miles, instead, digs around among the pillows and finds a plush battle axe, holding it up and smiling.

“You have one and left him at home? Now that’s just silly!” She turns to Elim. “What about you, Ga-rak?” She asks, carefully enunciating the name.

“I never had a doll or a plush, at least not that I can still remember,” Elim explains solemnly.

“No? But they are important! They comfort you when you have nightmares, and protect you from monsters under the bed, and they are good friends to have tea parties with because they let you eat all the biscuits!”

“I shall consider sewing one, then,” Elim declares, and Julian tries to picture that.

The spy assassin addict tailor sewing up a doll or plush animal.

He does not quite manage.

At least the girl seems to have forgotten actually inquiring after the reason for his tears.

“So, Julian, what’s going on?” Molly asks just then, because that, of course, is how his life is going at the moment.

Julian nearly starts to hyperventilate again – how could he even remotely begin to explain this situation to a five-year-old?

Or should he lie to her instead, come up with an excuse, to keep her out of it?

But what was a believable explanation to a little girl why he, a grown man, had been crying at her parent’s dinner table?

He throws a panicked look towards Keiko, hoping she will know how to handle this, when help comes from an unexpected quarter.

“Julian is hurt because I broke a promise to him,” Elim says, slowly, carefully, as if saying the very words is causing him pain, and Julian is stunned.

“But why would you do that?” Molly asks, earnestly, giving Elim a disapproving look.

“Because I was being arrogant and thought I knew better.”

_And that gave you the right to completely go over my head like that?_

Miles does not seem satisfied with that answer either, giving another huff, and Julian looks over to him just in time to see Keiko throw a warning glare.

“But you promised!” Molly’s indignation on his behalf warms Julian, who is surprised at the unexpected echo of his own thoughts.

“I thought … if things would turn out better if I did something different, that would ... make it okay.”

“Did they?” Molly demands.

“I don’t actually know,” Elim admits, and then turns to Julian. “And even if they did, I still should not have broken my promise. I am very sorry.”

Julian gives him a slight nod, hoping to convey they would talk about this later.

Elim nods back.

“So, Garak, where did you learn tactical blanket fort construction?” Keiko asks, her attempt to change the topic as obvious as it is welcome.

“I myself was led through similar thought exercises regularly throughout my childhood,” Elim explains. “It is a typical part of early education in Cardassia, especially if your parents ...” He takes a breath, looks at Molly, who is starting to yawn, and continues “... hope you will choose a career in government service.”

It could not be more obvious that was not where Elim was heading with his sentence, and Julian is not the only one who has picked up on it.

“They must have been surprised to have raised a tailor, instead,” Miles says coolly, suspicion written large on his features.

“I suppose they would have been surprised by my change of profession, yes.”

Miles’ eyes narrow at that, and Julian supposes he is thinking through all the implications of Elim’s admission.

“So, what do you think about the Cardassian advance on the Dorvan colony?” He then asks, his tone too obviously conversational to be anything but fake, and Julian winces.   
So much for hoping this would continue to stay civil.

“I am hardly qualified to evaluate it.”

“And why is that? Do you not take an interest in Cardassia's affairs?”

“Of course I do, but I can hardly judge the state's actions as it's citizen, even an expatriate one. Cardassians are Cardassia. You might as well ask me to point out a flaw in one of my garments.”

Miles seems to want to reply, but Keiko clears her throat and tilts her head towards Molly, who has nodded off by now.

Miles takes that as his cue to scoop her up.

“I’ll take her to bed,” He says stiffly.

Elim and Julian crawl out of the fort to make space for Miles, and Keiko follows shortly after.

“It is getting late,” Keiko says.

“It is,” Elim agrees, taking the hint.

They make their polite goodbyes, Miles returning just in time to give Julian an awkward pat in the back and a “Talk soon”.

As they go down the stairs, Julian is trying to work out just what to say to start a calm productive conversation on tonight’s events.

“Why? Why did you … I thought you agreed with me!” bursts out of him as soon as they have closed the door behind them.

_Very calm, Jules._

“Does it matter?” Elim’s question appears sincere, and a bit confused. “My intentions do not excuse my actions.”

“They matter to me, anyway. I need to know what went on in your head of yours that you’d … cross a line like that.”

Elim puts down the keys, then sits down on the sofa.

Julian reluctantly joins him.

“I knew you were scared of how they’d react. I thought if we disclosed our issues slowly, one by one, you would have continued to carry that anxiety for as long as there was another reveal yet to come, and came to the conclusion ripping off the metaphorical band-aid would shorten your pain in the long run and was therefore worth risking your … disapproval.”

_He didn’t actually lie to Molly_ Julian finds himself thinking, and then wonders why he got stuck on that of all things. 

Elim, however, isn’t finished. “I did not expect the severity of your reaction, but that does in no way justify my conduct. I am sincerely sorry for causing you that much pain and will endeavour to do better in the future”

For a moment, Julian is tempted to just accept the apology – say it now, make it true later – but he can’t bring himself to, not this time.

“I am not sure I am ready to forgive you,” he admits instead, bracing himself, but Elim simply acknowledges it with a nod.

“I understand you will likely need time and …. and perhaps the opportunity to see me do better after this blatant breach of your trust.”

They sit in a silence, for a while.

“Elim?” Julian finally asks.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Do you think they’ll ever invite us back?”

“We should invite them to my place, next time, anyway. It would be the polite thing to do,” Elim says, and Julian is not impressed at his attempt to stall.

“Miles was caught rather off-guard tonight, but I do believe he values you and your friendship enough to ... at least want to continue keeping an eye on me.”

Elim smiles his self-deprecating smile, but Julian is still anxious.

“And Keiko?”

“Seems under the impression that I am a nice person.” Elim’s face is a grimace of distaste at the last couple of words, and Julian bursts into laughter.

“Well, we both know Miles has not been singing your praises. She must have sussed out you're a softie at heart all on her own.”

“A _softie_.” Elim bites out the word, but Julian isn't fooled.

“Are you or are you not already considering a plush toy pattern?”

“Molly’s attempt to convince me with arguments that were logical, if of course from a child’s perspective, should be rewarded to encourage her to ...”

“You're fibbing,” Julian interrupts with a wide grin, and Elim stares at him in utter indignation.

“Molly's got you wrapped around her little finger. And I am going to tell you a secret.” He moves in closer, whispering in Elim’s ear. “I think it's adorable.”

Elim seems lost in thought for a moment, then speaks slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully, something Julian is noticing more and more.

“If I’ll be sewing a stuffed animal anyway, I could fix up your teddy bear’s back seam while I’m at it. It’s not going to hold for much longer as-is.”

Julian has to suppress a flinch. He had fixed that rip carefully, painstakingly, with the help of online tutorials.

It appears he hadn’t done nearly as good a job as he thought.

_Elim didn’t mean it as an insult_ he tells himself.

He still can’t bring himself to think of handing Kukalaka over like that.

“Could you teach me how, instead?”

“Of course. I did offer you sewing lessons, it’s as good a place to start as any,” Elim says with a smile, and if it seems just a bit strained, Julian doesn’t mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once more a shorter chapter right along with this one!


	11. Interlude

“You seemed to get along with him. Arguing strategy like that.” Keiko says, smiling, as she cleans the pans that can't go into the dishwasher that Miles is currently loading.

“Next time he is here we are getting a sitter for Molly," He responds stiffly. 

“I see no reason to. He was very gentle with her!”

“He's a Cardie. Gentleness was bred out of them a long time ago. If he's nice to her than it's to lull us into a false sense of security.”

Keiko can feel her jaw muscles clench. 

“That was a very ugly thing you just said.” She doesn't give Miles a chance to reply. “This man came to us, admitting his own private issues to us, virtual strangers, solely for Julian's benefit after you tried just about everything _to stop Julian from dating him in the first place_!”

“And drove Julian to a panic attack. He's never had a panic attack with _me_ before.”

“His methods may leave some to be desired, but he did admit he was out of his depth, which is why they were here, entrusting us with their secrets, and you give him a hard time about _Cardassian foreign politics_!”

“Cardassians are Cardassia, you heard him!”

“So that's your excuse for hating Cardassians as a whole?”

“I don't -”

Keiko doesn’t let him finish.

“No, you’re right, you don’t hate them. You hate what fighting in the war made out of _you_.”

Miles looks like he has been slapped, but Keiko can't bring herself to regret saying it.


	12. Chapter 12

When Julian’s phone rings the next morning, Garak doesn’t spare it much of a thought before he goes back to cataloging which elements of his wardrobe require alteration, as he still has trouble bringing himself to eat as much as he should and it is clearly showing in the ill fit of most of his clothes.

But the phone keeps ringing, persistently, and he does find himself walking out of the bedroom into the living room out of sheer curiosity, where he finds Julian on the sofa, staring sightlessly the biology reference book he was supposed to be studying from and which he is now clutching tightly while the phone rings on the table next to him.

“Aren’t you going to pick up?” Garak asks, confused.

“No” Julian presses out between clenched teeth.

The phone stops ringing, but before Garak can puzzle out exactly what question he wants to ask, it starts again, moving precariously close to the edge of the table with the vibrations.

Garak grabs it just before falls off and looks at the caller ID, which does not help, because the number - a land line with an area code he doesn’t recognize on sight - is not familiar to him.

“Julian?”

He is still not quite sure what he is actually asking.

Julian answers anyway.

“That’s my parents’ number,” he forces out, and Garak suddenly has to fight to bout of nausea and the urge to demand how the hell they still had Julian’s contact information.

He puts the phone back on the table just as the call is going to voicemail.

“You appeared to not wish to talk to them,” He says, trying for confused instead of horrified.

“I really don’t,” Julian says between clenched teeth.

Garak considers his best course of action.

The debacle at dinner with the O’Briens had blatantly driven home that he needs to let Julian take the lead in this for him to feel safe – but how to go about it while still letting him know he is available to support him?

He sits down next to Julian and looks at him questioningly, with a raised eyebrow and an arm on the back of the sofa. Julian closes the book and takes the invitation, curling up against him, and Garak very carefully does not sigh in relief.

“May I ask ...” and still Garak isn’t quite sure where to start.

Julian however nods.

“They still have your contact information.” It comes out flat.

“No. They have it _again_ , and _I don’t know how_ ”

Julian is very obviously choking down a sob, and Garak does not quite know if he should keep pressing.

“Are you going to -?”

“Listen to the voicemail?”

Garak nods.

_No judgement_ , he reminds himself. _Julian’s choice._

“I will probably waffle about it for a few days, because it might be important, before deleting it after all.”

Garak closes his eyes at the echoing pain in his chest.

What does Julian need from him, now?

Well, if all else fails, ask. Exercising honesty.

“Julian, I would like to support you in this, but I am not sure what you need from me here, and I must admit I fear to accidentally cross another line.”

Watching Julian dissolve into a panic attack had pierced his heart, and he’d only had his own hubris to blame.

“What are my options?” asks Julian carefully, guarded, and Garak gives an inner wail of despair, _I am asking because I have no idea._

“Whatever you need,” he finally tries.

Julian stares at him blankly, apparently no idea what to do with that statement, so Garak tries to provide his own suggestions after all.

“I could keep holding you, listening if you wish to talk further, or in silence if you’d prefer. I could try to make practical suggestions on how to deal with this situation in the future. I could provide a distraction. I could -”

Julian interrupts him.

“Could you … listen to the voicemail for me? Tell me if anyone’s dead or dying?”

And Garak is floored, floored at this simple gesture of trust, that he still has that much of it after he has failed the man he loves so very badly.

“Of course, my dear. Right now?”

“No!” Julian sounds panicked, and Garak rubs his back in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

“When I’m not in the room, please? Maybe when I’m in the shower?”

“Of course,” Garak says again.

_His triggers must be intense if he is that scared of hearing even a bit of their voices._

They sit in silence, for a while.

“Do they know where you live?” Garak finally asks the one question that is still burning in his mind.

“They might know I work at Deep Dish Nine.”

Julian lets out a deep breath, covers his face in his hands.

“My vanishing act was near-perfect. They supported me through pre-med but I just … I couldn’t bear it anymore, the  … strings attached. I put as much money aside as I could. I applied for every med school scholarship I remotely qualified for. When I finished the degree, I changed bank accounts and moved, no forwarding address. I couldn’t afford to replace my phone yet, but started saving up.”

“And then?”

“When Jake redid the social media page, it apparently popped up on Raina’s profile, a “new things in your area” sort of thing. She saw a picture of me and showed it to her father. The caption mentioned I was a med student.”

Julian takes several deep breaths. Garak makes a soft noise, inviting him to continue.

“After that vacation at the lake, they hadn’t talked to each other in years, but he then proceeded to call my parents and demand to know how it was that I had to work to support myself through med school when my grandfather had had university funds set aside for me and Raina. I don’t know if he told them the name of the shop.”

“They stole your university fund?” Garak asks, trying very hard not to explode himself and barely succeeding. Julian flinches, softly, at the raising of his voice, and Garak hugs him even closer, inwardly cursing himself.

_Where has my self-control gone?_

“I think they used it - or at least part of it - to support me, actually, but claimed it was their own money, so they could guilt-trip me into visits and phone calls” The bitterness in his voice bears no outrage, just resignation, and that only makes Garak want to rend Julian’s parents to bits even more.

He forces his breath to calm.

“But well. That’s how they found out I work at a pizza shop. I got a few strongly-worded voice mails about embarrassing them”, a bitter laugh, and Garak is breathing calmly.

He is. 

“I had no idea what it was about until Raina showed up at Deep Dish Nine and apologized profusely. I picked up a few extra shifts and finally got that new phone.”

Before Garak can find the right words, Julian extricates himself from Garak’s arms.

“I’ll take that shower now?” He asks.

Garak can only nod and comply. As soon as the water is running, he takes the phone.

A woman’s voice pierces his ear.“Jules, stop being so selfish, you can’t ignore me forever. Call me back!”

Garak very pointedly does not throw the phone at the wall.

He does not, does not give in to temptation to call her back and tell her that her definition of the word selfish is obviously faulty.

He puts the cell phone down very carefully instead.

Then he tackles his computer, first opening a bookmarked recipe in one window, to provide himself an alibi with a few quick taps on the keyboard, then opening a second window.

First he tries finding an actually reliable app to block calls from certain numbers for Julian’s phone, then he realizes that will not be good enough - all Julian’s parents would have to do is borrow someone else’s phone or change their own number and they could harass Julian again, maybe even catch him unawares.

He will have to investigate how they obtained the number in the first place to permanently close that avenue, and then ensure another change of numbers. The latter seems an easier task to tackle, and therefore the logical choice with his limited window of time.

Quickly, he starts starting researching what kind of phone, phone plan included, Julian might like for the next gift-giving occasion he can come up with.

His birthday is in the summer and therefore out.

Julian texts significantly more than him, so his phone plan will need to accommodate that.

The Festival of Lights still feels too far away.

A plan compatible with his own would be a bonus.

_If all else fails I’ll claim it’s the anniversary of the first time I laid eyes on him._

It is that very thought that makes Garak stop.

No. No lies. No making decisions for him.

Throwing a glance at the clock and the bathroom door and making a quick calculation as to Julian’s usual shower time, he decides to allow himself a moment of weakness.  
He lets his head fall onto the back of the couch, presses his palms into his eyelids, and stays there for a few heartbeats.

Does not feel tears trying out to slide underneath his hands.

Finally, he sits up again, dragging his hands down his face. He pastes a few links to phone plan into an e-mail draft to Julian, saves said draft for a better moment, and closes the browser window.

He reads the recipe page in earnest, first perusing the instructions, then the comments, taking note of common problems and suggested improvements. To his satisfaction, he is just about finished as Julian makes his way back into the room. 

“No one dead or dying,” Garak says succinctly, gives Julian a careful five seconds to process that, then, when Julian doesn’t respond, turning his laptop so Julian can see the screen more easily, adds: “I was eyeing this recipe for our next dinner with the O’Briens”

Julian leans forward.

“So we are hosting this time?” Julian asks absently while reading.

“That was the idea, yes” Garak says, trying to not to beam at Julian’s use of _we_ in this particular context, restricting himself to a reasonably wide smile.

“Have you made this before?” Julian asks, looking up from the screen.

“Not this dish exactly, no, but enough with sufficient similarities that I feel confident we can prepare it for company.”

It does, indeed, go well enough when the time comes to actually cook it, and Julian makes a capable sous-chef - until his phone vibrates audibly.

He pulls it out of his pocket, taps and swipes on the screen a few times, then a wide grin lights up his face.

“Some kind of good news?” Garak asks, seeing no point in hiding his curiosity.

Julian, however, ignores the question entirely, instead asking one of his own:

“You can do without me for the next five minutes?”

“The O’Briens should arrive in ten!” Garak protests.

“I kno-ow!” Julian singsongs gleefully.

Garak gives the pan and the pot a cursory glance, then nods.

“I suppose I can finish this on my own, yes.”

“Great!” Julian says, kisses him on the cheek and just about skips away.

“Don’t close that!” He shouts from the hallway.

Garak quickly checks and sees that … Julian has left the apartment door ajar?

Just what is going on here?

Garak’s heart beats out a hard and rapid pace at being left completely adrift like that.

Julian had not seemed distressed in any way, so probably no imminent danger.

He takes stock of the situation.

Julian had seemed delighted at the text message, and had appeared in no way worried about missing their guests, so either he does not expect this to take longer than ten minutes, or, more likely given his reaction, at least one of them is in on whatever this is.

Unless… unless there wasn’t going to be a dinner at all - Garak is unwilling to rule anything out, given Julian had, again, handled the arrangements for this evening on his own. Perhaps he is expecting someone, but not the O’Briens? But then why wouldn’t he say so?

And why would he need the door open?

Not enough data to formulate a decent hypothesis either way, so he busies himself with putting the finishing touches on the dish, pretending he is not straining his ears to hear anything.

Steps on the stairwell, several pairs of feet, and he has not heard the heavy door to the house fall closed. 

A clatter, as if something is falling down the stairs.

“Damn!”

That _does_ sound like Miles O’Brien.

“Careful!” comes the dual admonishment.

Julian and Keiko.

They are carrying something, then, and now that the food no longer needs his attention, he sees no point in restraining himself from making his way to the hallway.

The door gets bumped open by Julian’s posterior, and all of Garak’s half-formed hypotheses fly out the window.

He stares, instead, utterly astonished, as Julian and the O’Briens carry in a hydroponics set-up with, yes, several orchids in varying stages of growth and space to add others.

Julian beams at Garak.

“Surprise!”

Garak blinks.

He blinks again, just to make certain what he sees is still there afterwards.

“That is a hydroponics set-up,” He says, dumbfounded, barely able to spare some brain matter to berate himself for stating the obvious.

“That is your hydroponic set-up,” Julian corrects.

“How?” Garak asks, flabbergasted.

Julian gives a shrug, his smile turning a bit uncertain. “You seemed to miss gardening. And orchids. So I got you a way to have orchids down here.”

“We should plug that in, Julian,” Keiko cuts in. “Unless, of course,” and she turns to Garak at that, “you don’t want it, in which case I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

He takes the hint.

“I … have no words to thank you for such a tremendous gift,” He says to Julian, blinking away sudden moisture in his eyes.

“Well, you’ll just have to thank me later, then!” Julian says, just a hint of lasciviousness in his voice, but his smile betrays him, more soft and sweet than lustful. He is giving him an out.

“I suppose I shall have to,” Garak returns in kind, pathetically grateful, and does take a bit of pleasure at seeing Miles grimace at the obvious innuendo.

“Plugging in?” Keiko reminds them, waving with the plug.

“Yes, of course,” Garak says, quickly dragging a side table just a bit to the right to make enough space and reveal an outlet.

“Come on, Miles, we’ll set the table,” Julian announces.

When everything is placed, Garak takes a moment to run his fingers over a petal.

“Julian’s a real sweetheart,” Keiko says quietly.

“Yes,” Garak agrees. “He is.”

“Go on ahead,” he says, pointing her at the right door.

“I’ll have to wash my hands first.”

He lets the water running over his hands soothes him, soaps up his hands carefully, thoroughly, rinses them off. Takes a look in the mirror to find his composure.

When he makes it to the dinner table, he is instantly alarmed.

Julian, who is currently serving the O’Briens, looks impossibly tense, the stiff lines of his shoulders speaking of movement painstakingly controlled.

Keiko looks concerned.

Miles … looks contrite?

“I’m just trying to understand, Julian,” He says. 

Garak does not understand, either, but will certainly not ask here and now if whatever they were talking about is making Julian this uncomfortable.

“So, how did you end up addicted to pain medication in the first place?” Keiko asks, turning to Garak, who is not the least bit surprised at her blatant change of topic, but somewhat shocked at her choice of a new one.

He stares at her.

She stares right back.

“I used to work in intelligence. I did not cope particularly well with the more unsavoury aspects of my job. The pain medication provided relief.”

“You were an operative for the Obsidian Order and you expect us to support you because you couldn't cope with … what, torturing people?”

“Miles!” Keiko sounds positively shrill at her husband’s explosion.

Julian visibly hunches, and Garak, softly, puts a hand on his knee – not the shoulder, he had learned that lesson with the latest bout of nightmares.

Garak has to defuse this. Now.

_Honesty it is_ , he thinks with no small amount of dread.

“Don't worry, Keiko. I appreciate your husband's bluntness.  You served your country, Miles, and I served mine. We both did our duty, didn't we?  
You were a soldier when a soldier was needed. I was an interrogator, I was a spy, I was whatever was needed for Cardassia, and I make no excuses for that. I love Julian. He has decided he wishes to be with me, despite my flaws, despite my sins, so I owe him the very best of me as long as he will have me.”

He takes a deep breath.

_Honesty is exhausting._

Miles, at that, just turns to Julian.

“You owe me a date.”

“What?”

“You said I’d make a dreadful date in comparison to … Him.” Garak would consider feeling insulted if he wasn’t far too interested in seeing how this plays out.

“You seemed rather glad of my opinion at the time,” Julian says, just a bit coldly.

“Well, that was when I still thought he was a Dukat-style creep and you for some reason got off on that!”

Now Garak _is_ feeling insulted, both on his own and Julian’s behalf, but neither of them are paying attention to anyone but each other.

Miles proclaims: “This is a matter of honor!”

“You’re married. You’re straight!” Julian protests.

“A matter of honor!” Miles repeats stubbornly.

Keiko is watching the scene with thinly-veiled amusement.

Garak is starting to wonder whether he should intervene if Miles continues to pressure Julian like that, and how he should navigate that potential social disaster.

Julian, however, seems to find previously undiscovered steel in his bones, drawing himself up, chin lifted.

“No. I do not owe you a date. That’s like, seven levels of creepy.”

Garak suppresses a sigh of relief.

Then Julian _keeps talking_.

“If you want the chance to prove you’d be a better date, you’ll have to bloody well ask me out properly!”

Which is how Garak finds himself watching Julian pace in front of his closet on an afternoon a few days later.

“What the hell was I thinking? And why does he want to meet so early?”

“I confess, Julian, that I do not have the slightest idea. How about this one?” Garak asks, pointing to one of his own creations. “It should fit the dress code of whatever venue Miles is likely to choose.”

“You just want to mark your territory.”

“Guilty as charged,” Garak says, his hands spread wide, only feeling a twinge of guilt about not feeling guilty in the slightest, watching Julian’s expression carefully.

To his relief, Julian gives him a fond half-smile.

“Well, I can’t blame you, I wasn’t exactly subtle either. I told him to pick me up downstairs.”

_Downstairs, not “my apartment”._

No time for swooning, Garak returns his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Then we shall have to hurry.”

They make it downstairs with time to spare, but now Julian has taken to nervously watching the door.

When there is finally a knock on the door, he is still visibly startled.

Garak gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile. Julian and Miles, as he constantly reminded himself, did very obviously have issues to work out for the sake of their friendship. This would be a good opportunity to do so.

“You have your mobile phone?” He still can’t quite help himself asking despite the fact he can clearly see the outline of it in the pocket of Julian’s jeans.

Julian taps said outline with a bit of a knowing smile, then turns to open the door.

Miles is … carrying a flower.

“Is that a rose?” Julian asks, sounding slightly panicked.

“Yeah, but it’s yellow,” Miles explains. “Yellow roses are for friendship. You brought Keiko some last week, remember?”

Julian accepts the flower, looking half touched and half confused by the gesture, and Garak cannot deny a certain level of surprise at how much thought Miles had apparently put into this.

He busies himself finding a tall drinking glass that can double as a vase.

Julian just about shoves the rose in there - and Garak does not wince, Julian had never had occasion to learn how to care for cut flowers, he will take care of it when they are out the door - when Miles holds up his hand.

“Wait, you gotta cut the bottom of the stem at an angle, lives longer that way.”

Both Julian and Garak stare at him.

Miles … blushes?

“I’m married to a botanist,” He points out, a little defensively.

Garak, oddly, feels compelled to show mercy at this unexpected show of hidden depths in Miles O’Brien.

“I will take care of it so you two can be on your way.”

“Of course, we don’t want to be late,” Miles agrees.

“Late to what, anyway?” Julian asks.

“You’ll see,” Miles asks with a smile that appears a little smug, but mostly soft.

Julian gives Garak a kiss on the cheek, then they are gone and Garak finds himself staring at the door.

Which someone is knocking at.

Again.

He opens it, carefully, to find Keiko and Molly.

“About time they left,” Keiko says.

“We were waiting for aaaages!” Molly proclaims, pointing to … the door to the laundry room, which was certainly a decent vantage point to identify the comings and goings in his apartment.

How unexpectedly devious.

Garak does not bother to hide a delighted grin.

“Please, do come in.”


	13. Chapter 13

Julian is still not quite sure what to expect, because Miles has been frustratingly close-lipped about their destination.

He doesn’t go about it like Elim would have, talking circles around him until he forgot that he’d asked in the first place - Miles just says “Wait for it” with a self-satisfied smile whenever Julian tries to broach the subject.

By the time Miles is leading him along the stone wall of one of the smaller local parks, the suspense is killing him.

“Miles, where are we actually going?” He asks for the umpteenth time.

“Listen,” Miles said. And then doesn’t continue, as Julian expected he would, with an admonishment for his lack of patience, but just waits, standing right there, on the sidewalk.

Oh. He’d meant _actual listening_ , and only now Julian notices he’d been so lost in thought he has completely blocked out the noise - vaguely medieval-sounding instruments from beyond the wall, playing a tune that seems … eerily familiar.

“Is that the _Tetris theme_?” He asks, flabbergasted.

“Yup,” Miles says, a broad grin on his face. “We’re going here.”

Some kind of medieval market, perhaps?

But _Tetris?_

When they reach the entrance, a poster finally clues Julian in when a familiar logo catches his eye - he is far more used to seeing it on a computer screen.

“It’s an improvisational theatre thing,” Miles explains, “Most of the big voice actors of the game are here.”

Julian takes a look around.

His guess of a medieval market wasn’t entirely wrong, the park is filled with a nice amount of stalls, but while some offer the typical swords and furs and food, others sell merchandise.

The many lit torches would probably look more atmospheric if it was actually dark.

The crowd is sizable, but not ridiculous.

The music is loud enough to be heard, but not so loud one would have to shout to order food at one of the stalls that smell … fantastic.

“I wanted to do something that’s … well, still us,” Miles adds, now sounding a bit tentative.

That makes sense, Julian supposes. This game had always been their thing - Elim doesn’t seem to play any kind of video games, and Keiko prefers games like Portal to MMORPGS.

The logic puzzles combined with the mystery might actually appeal to Elim, too, now that he thinks about it, and he makes a mental note to think about that later.

Only now he realizes he hasn’t actually given Miles an answer.

“Yeah,” he says with a wide smile. “I love it.”

“Wanna get a beer? We should have another half hour before the theatre starts.”

The beer is _expensive_ – apparently it’s made in small batches with authentic, century-old methods, so the price is probably justified, even if Julian still balks at it. When

Julian tries to get out his wallet, Miles gives him a Look-with-a-capital-L.

Right. _Date_. He swallows hard and puts his wallet away. 

They drink in a comfortable near-silence, only occasionally commenting on whatever piece the band is playing now, weaving their way through the rows of stalls.

Miles still doesn’t offer to take his arm or anything, just walks with him as he usually would, and Julian is slowly feeling the tension of awkwardness drain from his body again.

The theatre is delightful, the voice actors proving themselves to be as adept on the stage as they are behind a microphone, poking fun at game mechanics, treating small objects on the stage as unsurmountable barriers and pretending not to recognize each other as soon as their hoods are pulled up, and Julian is laughing so hard he only avoids spilling his beer by virtue of the glass being empty by now.

“Refill?” Miles offers, poking his empty glass and Julian only shakes his head absently, enthralled by the actors on the stage who are by now skillfully weaving fandom in-jokes into their re-enactment of iconic scenes.

When said actors finally take their bows, his sides hurt from laughing so much, and Miles doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

“That refill-offer still open?” Julian asks.

“Sure!”

They stroll back to the concession stand.

“Want some food while we’re at it?” Miles suggests and Julian is getting a bit hungry, and eating something might be a good idea if they’ll keep up their pace with the beer.   
Miles leads him to a bench somewhat apart from the crowd, and Julian is a bit confused.

The potatoes are, Julian vaguely remembers, not exactly historically accurate, but flavourful nonetheless, and go well with the beer which he enjoys more with each sip.

“Between you and Elim,” Julian says without thinking, lifting his glass a bit, “I seem to be developing somewhat expensive taste.”

Then he braces himself, sure Miles will object to being compared to Elim at all and feeling rather awkward again for having drawn attention to the … reason for their outing.  
But Miles just grins.

“Wait ‘til Keiko gets in on it. She likes Whiskey matured in Madeira barrels.”

That’s … not what Julian would have expected to be her drink of choice, and when he traces back his reasonings for that, he’s somewhat ashamed.

Miles’ face is getting serious, so now he’s going to ...

“So, what did I do wrong?”

Julian blinks in puzzlement.

“Do wrong?”

“We’ve been friends for years now, best friends ... or at least I thought so.” Miles trails off.

“Yeah, we are!” Julian objects hastily.

“But you apparently still didn’t feel you could tell me about … well. Your childhood. In all these years. I mean, I don’t talk much about the war” Miles says, and Julian’s eyes go wide at the parallel he is drawing.

“So I totally get if you don’t like talking. But you never even mentioned it. And don’t think I didn’t notice you’ve been making all the dinner arrangements with Keiko. If you’re more comfortable with her, and with Miranda, than with me, I’ve been doing something wrong. I’d like to know what it is so I can do better.”

That is … so far outside of the realm of what Julian would have ever expected to hear from Miles that he has no idea what to say.

Miles hadn’t been … happy when Keiko asked how he had wheedled the setup out of Miranda, and he’d admitted what exactly the details of their deal had been. Miles had seemed positively insulted that Julian would have talked to a perfect stranger but not him, his friend of several years.

That he’d told Elim before Miles probably hadn’t helped, either.

And Julian had felt guilty, for never having told Miles, with all that in mind.

But now Miles was … taking the blame?

“I never told anyone,” Julian finally explains. “Until Elim. And he still doesn’t know … a lot of it.”

Which he should, perhaps, change in the future, if only he could figure out how.

Julian finds himself feeling oddly guilty for how often he’s been thinking of Elim while technically on a date with someone else, if a … friendship-date?

Miles has put a hand on his shoulder, warm and reassuring.

“I was scared you’d say no to dinner,” Julian finally admits. “I know you don’t like Elim.”

“I suppose I’ve earned that.”

“I know you’re just worried about me, but ...” He’s trying to figure out how to put his feelings into words - without it sounding ridiculously awkward - when he’s beaten to it.

“Nah, I gotta admit I’ve got some issues there which are my own. Keiko called me out on it - that I probably wouldn’t have nearly as many objections if he wasn’t Cardassian, and to my shame I gotta say she’s probably right. Though I am still a bit freaked out over the former-operative-thing.”

“So was I,” Julian concedes. “Only found that out … a few weeks ago. When I also found out about the verkecin.”

“Verkecin? Is that what he was addicted to?”

“Technically still is,” Julian corrects reflexively. “But he’s off them, now, and got rid of his dealer’s contact information.”

“And … you stayed with him. Through that. Knowing what he is. I’m … trying not to judge, here, but ...” Miles trails off again.

“He’s making different choices now.” Julian says firmly. “And I love him, and he loves me, and it’s never been like this with anyone. I said to Miranda, I think, that he just loves _all_ of me.”

He takes another sip from his rapidly emptying beer.

“Early on, on one of our dates, I stuck my foot in my mouth and then said something along the lines of I shouldn’t talk at all. He asked me to rethink that decision, because he likes hearing me talk, and I couldn’t help thinking that you’d have pretended to celebrate instead.” 

Miles looks appropriately chastened at that.

“I’ll do my best to respect your choice,” Miles says, stiffly, and Julian nearly laughs because he’s pretty sure those were originally Keiko’s words, as earnest as they sound now.

“That’s all I’m asking. You’re very different, you bring very different things to my life, and especially in light of recent revelations you have a hard time trusting him, and I get that, okay?”

“Okay. So ...” Miles takes an audible breath. “From the way you said that, a minute ago, I’m gonna guess I’ve been overdoing it with the teasing?”

Julian closes his eyes. Does not hear his parents call him oversensitive in his head. _Does not._

“A bit. Like, not always, but sometimes … it hurts,” he forces out.

“Okay, I’ll tone it down. And if I go too far, you tell me, okay? Because I don’t want you to hurt because of me.”

Julian is astonished into honesty.

“I’ll try, but sometimes I can’t tell if I’m just being silly.”

“Doesn’t matter. If it hurts, it hurts.”

They are sitting in silence again, now. It’s a clear one, a peaceful one.

Julian finishes his beer. He was right in thinking the torches would look atmospheric once it’s dark.

“So this was exhausting as fuck,” He says.

“Sure was. Let’s not do that … too often,” says Miles, and Julian feels the corner of his mouth twitch upwards at the way Miles has caught himself.

Miles stands up.

“One last refill and then checking out that sword stall again?” He suggests. “I wanna try swinging one.”

Julian gets up, too.

Miles stops him with a hand on his elbow, steps in close.

“But if you do need to talk, I’m here, alright?” He says silently.

Julian nods, embarrassed how reassuring it feels that Miles has spelled it out, even if it he had implied it before.

When they make it back to the plaza, Miles gets a bit shifty, which makes Julian nervous.

“So, Garak will be home, right?”

That sounds even more ominous.

“Sure,” Julian says.

Miles isn’t gonna do anything ridiculous in the name of the date, is he?

Now he is unlocking the door and … holding it for him.

Julian goes in, leads the way downstairs, unlocks this door, too, and carefully tries not to hurry too much into the living room, where he presumes Garak to be.

Garak is, indeed, in the living room.

But he’s not alone.

“Hi Daddy, Hi Julian!”

Molly greets them cheerfully, with a wave, even though she sounds somewhat tired.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Miles says, his cheer sounding a bit forced. “What are you doing here?”

That question seems aimed more at Keiko, who’s holding Molly in her lap, but the girl answers it anyway.

“Helping Garak pick out a plush!” She declares. “He’ll make it himself! Did you know people can do that, Daddy?”

“He’s a tailor, darling, I’m sure he can sew all kinds of things,” he says, his eyes still piercing his wife’s while Julian seeks refuge with Elim, taking his hand. Elim presses it, shortly. 

Keiko is giving Miles a wide-eyed innocent look.

“You did say I should spend some time with a friend while you’re out,” She says.

Miles grits his teeth. “I suppose I did.”

“And since I’m already meeting Jadzia and Nerys tomorrow, I thought I’d visit Elim today,” she says, then turns towards Elim.

“But I think we should get going,” she adds.

“It is getting rather late,” Elim agrees, picking up the thread.

“Thank you for the tea,” She says with a smile.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” Elim responds with a smile of his own, and then turns to the girl.

“And thank you, Molly, for your invaluable help.”

“You’re-” She yawns. “You’re welcome.”

“Looks like it’s time for bed for you,” Miles declares, scooping her out of Keiko’s arms as if he can’t get her out of the apartment fast enough.

She sluggishly waves at Elim.

“Bye, Garak!”

“Goodbye, Molly,” Elim responds with a smile.

Miles stiffens, for a moment. Then he carefully maneuvers Molly so he’s holding her with one arm only.

The other he holds out, offering his hand to Elim to shake, tilting his head towards Julian.

He couldn’t have said “For his sake” more clearly if he’d screamed it, but Julian will happily, gladly take it.

Now it’s Garak’s turn to look towards Julian, who gives him a nod he hopes looks encouraging.

Garak takes Miles’ hand and gives it a short, firm squeeze.


	14. Chapter 14

When Garak hears the bell announcing someone has entered the shop, he puts down his work and makes his way to the front to greet them.

He finds himself entirely ignored, the woman keeping her back to him.

It would not have surprised him if she had been just another random customer – but it is obvious she is not.

She walks past the racks, hands idly folded behind her back, her steps just too determined for her to be merely browsing, and just too slow for her to be searching for anything in particular.

Garak waits until she turns to face him.

When she does, her gaze locks onto his instantly, proving she had known exactly where he stood.

Her posture suddenly looks rather a lot like parade rest and it takes all his considerable willpower to not tense up.

Then something _shifts_ and she slips out of it, relaxing into the Jadzia Dax he knows.

Garak finds himself rapidly reevaluating his opinions on Trill religious beliefs.

“Hello Garak,” She finally says, an all-too-knowing smile on her face.

It would not do to let her know she has thrown him off-balance.

“Hello, Miss Dax. What may I help you with?” He asks.

She shudders visibly.

“Put that customer service voice away. For anyone who has heard you discuss literature with Julian, it’s just creepy.”

“Very well. You are not here as a customer, then?”

“My coat _could_ do with an alteration or two,” Jadzia says, and now that she has mentioned it, his brain finally flips the switch back from operative to tailor.

A double-breasted, black, knee-length coat, rescued from being considered a classic by the wide lapels and the slightly flared bottom.

It suits her, but it doesn’t quite _fit_ her.

She had, however, walked in wearing it instead of carrying it.

Deliberate, to keep her options open once she was inside?

But options for _what_? What was her objective?

“You’ll want it taken in at the waist, I presume?”

“Yes, and maybe different buttons.” She softly tugs on one. “These are too boring.” Her face is the picture of noble disdain, at odds with her choice of words, and Garak wonders whether this is the first time he has truly met Jadzia Dax, as opposed to _her_ customer service persona.

“Let’s see what we can do.”

All in all, it’s one of the most pleasant times he has ever spent with a customer.

Jadzia stands still or moves exactly as instructed as he pins the fabric. 

His selection of potential buttons does not quite satisfy her, but she asks the right questions to remind him of a local artisan who might have something fitting in stock or should at least be able to craft some to her specifications, and she enthusiastically picks up the thread and asks about sizes and shapes to go with the buttonholes.

But sometimes, she tilts her head, as if listening to something Garak can’t hear.

Maybe she is.

Finally, the coat is in the back, she assures him that she will not freeze too badly without it on her way back to the apartments, and he assures her that the slip of paper he hands her contains enough details to give the artisan a good idea of what she needs.

“Are you going to tell me why you really came?” He finally asks as she is about to leave the shop, telling himself that being obvious is just another method of obfuscation.

Jadzia turns back around, giving him a long look.

“Reconnaissance,” she admits - or at least appears to. “You appear to be becoming a fixture in Julian’s life. He’s my friend. I want him happy.”

“So do I.”

The bell leaves him to contemplative silence.

The day’s surprises, however, do not end there.

“I think I should talk to Rijal,” Julian says over dinner. “I’ve made plans to meet with her tonight.”

Garak is surprised, but glad that Julian apparently has drawn confidence from his success with Miles and Keiko.

“Would you like me to come along?”

“No,” Julian says, and Garak tries not to let the pang he feels show on his face.

_Of course he wouldn’t, look what happened the last time._

As if he had read his thoughts, Julian hastily adds: “Not because I wouldn’t want you there, but because I’d like you to do something else while I’m out with her, a favour. If you’re willing.”

“Of course,” Garak says quickly, then wonders if blanket agreement was wise.

Julian’s next statement does not assuage his worries.

“We’ll need to go upstairs.” He says after taking a very obvious deep calming breath, and Garak follows without asking questions, watches Julian fumble with his keys, his hands shaking as he opens the door.

Then he closes it behind them and turns to Garak.

“That Mum called me … worries me,” Julian admits. “If she got her hands on my phone number, I don’t think she’ll leave it at that. I am worried she, or both of them, will … escalate eventually.”

“Should they escalate, do you have any specific wishes on how I should act?” Garak asks, because he _cannot_ afford to get it wrong again.

“I’ve got no idea how I will react.” Julian laughs helplessly and runs his fingers through his hair. “My father especially will be convinced you … control me now. It’s how it works in his head.”

Garak is fighting the sudden urge to either scream, cry, or throw up, he is not quite sure, but he says nothing, maintains his composure, lets Julian continue.

“So I don’t know what I’ll do, but I need you to wait for my reaction, and I need you to back me up on what I do, even if you disagree with it.”

“I promise,” Garak says solemnly. Julian turns around, and as Garak looks around and notices the dust, he wonders again whether he should, some time soon, suggest they fully move in together to avoid the constant shuffle back and forth, or whether it would break their still-tenuous balance to not each have a place to withdraw to if necessary.

Perhaps the bigger apartment on the third floor would be a better choice?

When Julian, however, retrieves a small key from inside a book on his bookshelf, he regains Garak’s full attention.

“You don’t know enough about what happened, and I don’t feel ready to tell you, and … I think I’ve found a solution. A preliminary one, at least.”

He moves on to the bedroom, where he pulls a heavy security lock box (how had Garak missed it’s existence?) opens it with the key he just retrieved, and takes out a thick file.

“This is all I have on my treatment as a child. My entire psychiatric history. Clinical reports and treatment plans and test results and … well. Everything I’ve been able to get.”

A true monster under the bed.

Garak is torn between wanting to devour it all, seeking answers on how to help his beloved Julian, and suggesting a bonfire.

“I added some notes, for context. I’d appreciate if you could take the time to read it … while I’m not in the room. Or even the apartment.”

That request sounds familiar, and Garak, heart dropping to the floor, is starting to develop a new theory on Julian’s reason for wanting him to listen to the voicemail while he was in the shower.

_Is it truly_ my _reaction he is scared to see?_

Then he realizes he has yet to answer and Julian is looking increasingly anxious.

“I am honored at the trust you place in me,” he says, the words feeling stilted and awkward and wholly inadequate.

After seeing Julian off, Garak settles in with the paperwork.

At best, he had thought he might be able to glean information between his observations of Julian and the eBooks he had picked up in that first research frenzy - he had, in fact, been prepared for it, mentally categorized it as an extended intel-gathering mission, expected to have to read between the lines.

Now he’s been handed this entire file of considerable thickness.

He tries to steel himself for anything, remembering how only the implications of the retreat’s program had induced intense nausea, and wonders, for a moment, where his professional distance to other people’s suffering has gone.

How could memories of his own … handiwork still leave him cold, but Julian’s trauma make him taste bile?

_You know why._

He shakes his head and gets to work.

A first browse shows him that there are post-it notes with folds in them all over the papers. He’d have to unfold them to read Julian’s commentary.

This must have taken Julian hours, hours in which he had sat alone with this literal stack of nightmares to share them with Garak in a manner that he could still be comfortable with, and suddenly Garak is pathetically grateful Julian had insisted on staying away, when he has to fight the urge to cry before truly getting started.

He gives in and allows himself a few tears in the hopes the release will allow him to go through the folder with enough distance to actually make it through.

He braces himself and then opens the folder again.

The first piece of paper, a big red stamp saying “confidential” over the header, is a report from a specialist who had been consulted on Julian’s extended bed-wetting. A quick look at the date tells him that Julian must have been about four years old.

He reads as the doctor documents Amsha Bashir’s claim that the cold floors stopped Julian from getting out of bed at night and cannot quite tell whether he truly reads suspicion in the doctor’s tone or whether the post-it note right next to the statement is influencing his perception.

He takes a deep breath.

Unfolds it.

“My bedroom was carpeted. So was theirs. I had to go through it to get to the bathroom.”

Garak closes his eyes and gets himself some tissues.

Then he continues.

When he finally hears the key turn in the lock, his head snaps up. A quick glance at the clock confirms it is still far too early.

The reason soon becomes obvious – Rijal is supporting a very, very drunk Julian through the door.

Garak jumps up, hastily trying to put the file back together so he can go over and help, but Julian stops him with a raised hand.

“Noooo, let ‘er see,” He slurs.

He stares at Julian in complete and utter incomprehension, his only comfort that Rijal is doing the same.

“I chickened out. ‘s why I’m so slosssshed. Thought some liquid courage would help. Didn’t. Let her see.”

“My dear, are you certain?” Garak is conflicted – Julian had wished to disclose things today, but was he too drunk to consent to it now?

“Y’know I meant to tell her today.”

“Tell me _what_ exactly?” Rijal asks with a healthy dose of suspicion.

Garak does not intervene and derides himself for it as he watches Julian stagger towards the table, nearly falling on the way, shuffling through the papers, finally grabbing one with a clearly visible Adigeon logo and holding it up so his friend can see it.

“This. ‘mong other things.”

Rijal’s face first shows confusion, then slow, horrified realization.

“Oh,” She says softly. Then she quickly walks towards Julian, enveloping him in a hug.

“I’m here for you,” she says with complete conviction and Garak thinks, for a moment, that his legs are going to give out in relief. Julian might still be angry, but it has not gone as wrong as he feared.

“We can talk more about this when you’re sober, okay? Now it’s time for bed, big boy.”

Garak steps forward, and together they get Julian to bed.

“I’ll bring you a glass of water in a minute, love,” Garak finds himself saying, pressing a kiss to his partner’s forehead, not caring one bit about public displays of affection for once. “Do you also want a peanut butter toast?”

Julian gags audibly.

“No toast, then.”

He quickly fills two glasses with water, holding one out to Rijal, who has followed him back out, visibly shaken now that she is not in Julian’s presence anymore.

_I find myself continually upgrading my opinion of her._

“Sit,” He says. “Drink. Take a moment. I’ll be back out in a bit.”

He takes the second glass to Julian, collecting an Ibuprofen for him and a second for Rijal on the way, and ensures he drinks.

When he comes back to the living room, he finds that Rijal has sat down on the couch, her face hidden in her hands, glass of water untouched.

“You should drink,” He says, and she looks up at that, fiddles with her earring. “And you can have an Ibuprofen if you’d like,” he adds, holding one up for her.

“I knew there was … something,” she says, taking the pill and twirling it in her hands.

“He’s never, ever mentioned his parents.” She swallows the Ibuprofen, chasing it with half the glass of water. “I’d have been a fool not to suspect.”

Garak takes a moment to chastise himself at that, because she is more right than she knows – he had been that very fool - but she isn’t finished.

“But this?” She says, making a sweeping gesture over the table while blatantly trying to look away from it, and Garak feels a sudden rush of affection join the respect he has already gained for her.

He has mercy and packs up the file as she continues.

“I never expected something like this! This is nightmare fuel, not what you expect after an evening out. Prophets!” She hides her face in her hands again.

_She must be old enough to remember the media circus around the facility shutting down - maybe she even learned about it in her nursing classes._

He wonders, for a second, how to help her out of whatever hole she is digging herself into when she seems to collect herself again.

“I’m sorry, I should hardly be complaining to you when you’re the one who’s been supporting him through this.”

“I’ve only recently learned of it as well, after some ... revelations of my own past.”

It would not be fair to make her deal with this right now, too, not tipsy as she was, or so he would keep telling himself.

“I believe tonight’s failure to pace himself is just one demonstration of his intense fear of sharing what happened. He asked me to read this because he wanted me to know more but didn’t feel capable of telling me himself,” He says, a gamble, hoping he is not overstepping by sharing this.

“I was wondering what was going on tonight, I’ve never seen him drink like that, and it was obvious he was about to start speaking a few times and then either stopped or came up with something silly to distract me. First I thought ...”

Garak leaves her that opening.

“I first thought you’d broken up, or ... worse,” She says, sounding decidedly ashamed.

“Not an unreasonable conclusion under the circumstances. As is, I do appreciate you being protective of Julian. His – our - support system is woefully small.”

At that Rijal jumps up, swaying a bit, and gives him a hug.

Then she holds out her hand demandingly.

“Phone.”

Garak blinks in confusion.

“Gimme your phone,” she clarifies, her casual slurring indicating she too might is more than ready for bed.

_She probably needs a ride._

“Who do you need to call?”

She dictates a number, he dials it for her, and just as he’s about to hand her the phone, he hears the ring coming from her pocket.

He puts down his phone, blinks at her in incomprehension as her phone continues to produce a tinny melody he may have heard Julian hum once or twice.

She just takes a step forward and envelops him in another hug.

“You’ve got me now. Both of you”

Somehow it sounds like a benediction.


	15. Chapter 15

It takes Garak nearly a week to make it through the file in its entirety, in stolen hours here and there.

He slows down by the time he reaches Adigeon retreat, cross-references with the eBooks and his further research to find the things between the lines that Julian’s notes don’t tell him.

He gets Alon another bottle of very expensive whiskey and a few dirty secrets of his current business rivals.

He finds an online support group for Adigeon survivors and saves the link in yet another drafted e-mail to Julian, realizing he should start figuring out which of them he should actually send.

Garak does not try to fool himself into thinking Julian doesn’t know when he has or hasn’t been working on it - while he has refrained from asking Julian questions he may not be prepared to answer, he cannot help hug him just a little tighter whenever he sees him again afterwards, as if he could hold him together through sheer force alone.

On one such occasion, he manages to miss the mark spectacularly.

As he is holding Julian and muttering “I love you” into his ear for the third time this evening, Julian starts petting his shoulder, making shushing noises. “I’m okay now, Elim. I’m okay and here with you”, and Garak’s stomach twists itself into knots.

Julian is trying to comfort him.

Julian is trying to comfort _him_.

And he, to his intense shame, actually draws reassurance from that.

“Thank you, my love,” he finally says, at a complete loss at how to handle this.

At least he doesn’t have to do it alone anymore.

He decides to text both Rijal and Keiko.

**Julian is noticing my distress at learning more of what he went through. He’s trying to comfort ME about it! I don’t want to put this on him. What do I do?**

Rijal’s response is quick.

**Let’s go murder his parents.**

Even knowing she probably does not mean it literally, it still feels gratifying to have his anger shared.

 **Don’t tempt me** he finally responds.

His phone pings again, with another text from Rijal.

**Staging a natural death isn’t that hard.**

His answer is a reflex.

**Both of them dying of natural causes at once would be too suspicious.**

He truly intends to drop the matter there.

Then his phone pings again, and Keiko’s response, though slower, is a lot more immediately helpful.

**Find someone to vent to. You can come to me if you need to. Even Miles would probably be willing to listen - you could bond over your mutual protectiveness of Julian.**

**Thank you.**

He picks up the discussion on hypothetical methods to kill the elder Bashirs with Rijal whenever his anger flares.

She responds with enthusiasm.

While he hopes she does not figure out just how serious his musings become and deliberately keeps the realism in check to not reveal too much expertise and arouse suspicion, he quickly realizes talking it out does reduce his urge to actually go do it.

Keiko is the one he goes to when the sadness threatens to overwhelm him.

It’s not only the two women, however, who make the harder days easier.

While Garak is still not quite sure what Jadzia had found on that day in his shop, it appears he has passed some sort of test.

The customary polite nod that Mr Sisko always greets Garak with when they unlock their respective shops in the morning is now accompanied by a warm smile, not unlike the one Ezri has started to give him with when they pass on the street.

Worf and Kira both appear noticeably less hostile, which is just as telling.

His tentative truce with Miles O’Brien is holding, and Keiko has started to drop in with Molly after her trip to the market for a short chat about his flowers and her work while her daughter wanders about the shop.

Garak contemplates offering to teach the girl the basics of hand-sewing.

When Jadzia stops by the shop to bring the buttons  -  aventurine set in brass, a bold choice, but Garak thinks it should suit her  -  she soon draws him into shameless gossip, and he finds himself compelled to offer to just bring the coat by the pizza shop later, Julian and him had already planned eating at Deep Dish Nine for lunch today, no trouble at all.

(He quickly texts Julian to actually arrange it.)

Garak observes it all with quiet wonder, this strange new world in which a Bajoran is willing to hug him and Julian’s friends, as a whole, seem to have accepted him.

He has no idea just how grateful he will be for it before the day ends.

Jadzia, it turns out, is as delighted with his work on her coat as he is satisfied with it.

It fits like a glove and the buttons do give it, as Jake puts it, “pizzazz.”

He feels a short spike of jealousy when Julian looks rather appreciative of how the fabric hugs Jadzia’s curves as she gives a short twirl, but it is Garak he hides behind when Worf glowers at him for it.

Julian wraps his arms around his torso and peeks up from behind his shoulder, and Garak and Jadzia hold eye contact only for the fraction of a second before they both burst into laughter.

Despite the lunch rush, their favourite table is free.

Garak marvels at how little he minds sitting with his back to the door by now, knowing by now Julian prefers being able to see it.

He enjoys watching the going-ons in the restaurant, and if he hears someone is coming in, he pays close attention to Kira’s reaction to the newcomer.

She was, he knew, a capable fighter, and had done impressive work in the Resistance, and he trusts her threat assessment capabilities.

As Jake walks towards them to take their order, Garak notices he’s fiddling with a small hole in the side seam of his t-shirt.

“Want me to fix that? It should only take a few minutes, if you’ve got another shirt in the back” Garak offers as soon as Jake has finished taking notes, dragging out the small sewing kit he always keeps in his jacket’s pocket to hold it up.

“Sure!”

Jake, unselfconsciously, strips right there, not even noticing that a few girls in the corner are eyeing him appreciatively.

“And if I make sure you get your food before you’re done ….?”

Jake is obviously fishing, but that he considers Garak someone he can even try this sort of thing on warms his heart more than it has any right to.

He decides to indulge him.

“I’ll double your tip.”

Jake runs to call in their order, and Garak takes the time to explain to Julian just what he is doing.

“The colour won’t matter much if I do it right, because the thread shouldn’t show, but I’ll still pick one as close to the fabric as I have to be safe,” he explains as he threads his needle with practiced ease.

Julian watches his hands with rapt attention as he quickly closes the hole.

“I’d guess he accidentally snipped a thread when removing an uncomfortable tag” - they had, after all, both seen Jake did not wear anything underneath - “from where the serged seam then unraveled until there was a noticeable hole.”

Garak suppresses a smile as he hears Jake appeal to Worf to hurry up, please, his college fund would thank him.

“I should have met you earlier,” Julian says then, drawing his attention back to him with a suggestive smile. “All that time I could have been taking advantage of your clever fingers.”

Then, after a dramatic pause, his smile turns mischievous and he adds: “And all the shirts you could have saved!”

Garak allows himself a chuckle and slows down a bit, considering the double tip well worth it given Julian’s earnest interest in what he is doing.

“Now I will cover the exposed edges of the fabric to make sure it doesn’t fray further, binding them with a blanket stitch,” He explains.

Jake is dressed again by the time he brings Garak’s typical salad and Julian’s pasta, Garak nudges Julian, who grins at him when he, too notices that the girls look rather disappointed.

“Well, Jake, looks like you’ve earned your tip fair and square,” Garak announces with a gratuitous smile. “If you’ll wait another twenty seconds or so …?”

He finishes his work off quickly and hands the shirt back to its owner, who thanks him profusely.

As he eats his customary salad, Julian demolishes a truly outrageous amount of carbohydrates at an astonishing speed.

Garak cannot quite conceal his horror, and Julian is quick to defend himself.

“What, I’m hungry, I had to run after class to make it here in ti-”

Julian stops mid-word, all colour draining from his face, his eyes fixed on a point right above Garak's shoulder.

“Leave me alone” Julian brings out.

Garak has seen this look on his face before - when he wakes from his nightmares, not quite awake and aware - and suddenly he realizes the fatal flaw in his plan of relying on Kira’s assessment of any newcomers.

There were threats she wouldn’t recognize.

“Of course I am not going to leave you alone, I am your father, you ungrateful brat!”

Garak rises, reflexively, effectively putting himself between Julian and Richard Bashir.

“I believe Julian has made it abundantly clear he does not wish to talk to you.” Garak says coldly.

He pauses for a moment, giving Julian time to add to that, but nothing comes.

“Given the abuse you and your wife put him through, he has no reason to be grateful to you anyway. Therefore, kindly, go and leave him alone.”  
He had spoken softly, trying not to out Julian in front of his coworkers without his consent, even though part of him wishes to lay this man's sins bare in front of the entire world.

“Who do you think you are ...”

“He's my partner” Julian interrupts. He has gotten up now, taking Garak's hand, still standing halfway behind him, and - as Garak can't help but notice out of the corner of his eye - tense as if trying very hard not to shake, but his voice is firm, loud and clear.

“And he's right. You've hurt me enough. I won't give you the chance to do so ever again. Leave. me. alone.”

The elder Bashir does not get a chance to reply - it appears his explosion has gotten them attention.

Garak quickly turns just far enough to get a better view of his environment. Ezri and Jadzia Dax betray themselves with surreptitious looks in their direction - supposedly checking in with customers, they are slowly getting closer.

Kira, to Garak’s irritation, is tapping away on her phone as if nothing was happening.

Someone else, however, has already made his way to them.

“Sir, I must insist you leave the premises,” a booming voice says.

Richard's expression turns smug.

“Finally someone with some sense ...” He begins, turning towards the newcomer, but is interrupted.

“I was _not_ speaking to the Cardassian”  Worf clarifies.

Richard sputters in indignation.

“I demand to speak to a manager!”

Kira is putting her phone into her pocket now and takes a few steps toward them.

“You heard them. Julian doesn't want to talk to you. Worf has told you to leave the premises and you have refused. The police has been notified and someone will be here shortly.”

A rush of gratitude fills Garak as he realizes what she must have done – rarely has he been so glad to be wrong.

The elder Bashir, however, doesn't appear willing to give up any time soon.

“What do you think you are doing, sticking your noses where they don't belong! This is family business, and I demand to speak to my son, alone!” That last sentence is aimed at Garak again – the nerve of the man! Demanding this from Garak, as if Julian was incapable of original thought!

_Odo is on his way. No need to resort to my training._

As much as he wishes to inflict pain on the man in front of him.

He tries to concentrate on the appeal of leaving the dirty work, for once in his life, to other people - who seem to be more than willing to do it.

The two Dax sisters have abandoned their pretense and join them.

Ezri, behind him, seems to be giving Julian some much needed moral support. He thinks he can make out a “It’s okay, we won’t let him hurt you again.”

Jadzia, however, stands next to _him_ now, shoulder to shoulder, shielding Julian from Richard's view.

“What you are mistaken about, Sir” - her tone as she spits out the honorific makes it an epithet and Garak could _kiss_ her - “is which family Julian belongs to.”

Which is the moment Odo picks to come through the door – with Mr Sisko in tow.


	16. Chapter 16

When Odo grunts “You again!”, Julian nudges Elim and Jadzia to leave him a bit of space to watch the proceedings.

Odo and Ben are … rounding on his father?

Ben’s hand is twitching as if he wants to punch someone in the worst possible way, a gesture usually reserved for Dukat’s more ridiculous antics.

For a moment, Julian hopes he gives in to the urge, and then does not know how he feels about that.

“And here I thought,” Ben says disdainfully, “You were stalking one of my employees,” and the penny drops.

Of course Richard Bashir hadn’t just magically picked the right time to find him here.

“Technically, he was,” adds Odo conversationally; “Just with different intentions than we expected, apparently. But we’ve got plenty of footage showing him lurking around the pizza shop, and a bit of him entering and then leaving without ordering anything. With today’s events, I’ve got enough for a harassment charge”

“With what proof?” Richard demands.

His own voice answers him, if slightly tinny.

“… do you think you are?” comes from Kira’s phone.

Julian’s answer is easily audible, as well.

He’s surprised he managed to stop his voice from shaking.

”That, not to mention the witness statements” Odo declares, “Is enough for me to hold you overnight”

He turns to Julian.

“Plenty of time to arrange for a restraining order, if you’d like.”

Julian blinks.

Then he pinches himself.

Not a dream.

“God, yes, please,” he says.

His father does not like hearing it.

“You,” he spits out, starting for him, “are a disgrace to our family name!”

Julian braces himself as remembered shame washes over him, Richard, however, has apparently run directly into Ben’s broad chest.

“Well, that’s rectified easily enough,” Ben announces, his voice full of venom, and Julian’s head snaps up again to stare at him in incomprehension.

“If the Bashirs don’t appreciate him, I’m happy to adopt him and make him a Sisko. Now get the hell out of my shop.”

Julian blinks again.

He watches, numb, as one of Odo’s colleagues collects Richard and puts him into a police car, as Worf returns to the kitchen to help Jake, who had apparently been making sure nothing caught on fire in the chaos, and Kira flits about at the other tables, probably reassuring the other patrons service would return to normal in an instant.

Then, his legs slightly shaky, he makes his way towards Odo. Elim follows, a hand on his arm, apparently unwilling to part with him, and he is certainly not going to complain about it.

“About that restraining order …” Julian asks, hesitantly.

“Easy enough to do,” Odo grunts and quickly explains the procedure.

Julian listens attentively. Then, hesitantly, he asks: “Could my mother be included?”

“Difficult,” Odo admits. “If we’ve got no proof of her actively harassing you …”

“Ask him how his wife got his hands on Julian’s phone number,” Elim cuts in, his voice cold, and Julian can’t help but throw a look of sheer admiration, because he hadn’t even thought of that, but it’s likely what she did wasn’t exactly legal.

Odo takes out his walkie-talkie and asks one of his officers to pass the question on, and indeed, Amsha Bashir apparently tried every phone number Julian’s med school had online until someone gave in and handed out Julian’s number.

He’d have to make a complaint about that, he noted absently.

Together with the voice mail, which Julian had, miraculously, not gotten around to deleting yet, it’s just enough.

Free.

Elim is having a discussion with Odo that Julian can’t even follow anymore, still reeling.

He is free.

Ezri steers him towards a chair, assuring Elim he can finish up, first.

Julian barely even hears it.

His parents legally have to leave him alone now.

For a while, he stares off into nothing, trying to process that thought while Ezri rubs his arm.

And then he starts crying.

Jadzia and Ben are at his side in an instant and Elim throws him worried looks as he, Julian supposes, wraps things up with Odo in record speed.

Ezri looks at him with sad affection, and somehow that’s what breaks him even further.

“I just …” he tries to bring out between sobs “never expected you all would …”

“Didn’t you listen, silly?” Jadzia demands softly. “You’re family!” She declares and hugs him hard.

Next is not, as he would have expected, Ezri, but Ben.

“I meant it”, Ben murmurs into his ear holding him tight. “You’d make Jake a great older brother. Though I suppose if you’re looking for a name change, it’s not me you’ll be turning to,” He says and throws a significant look in Elim’s direction, who has started walking towards them.

Julian blushes, but does not protest.

“I have to get back to the kitchen,” Ben says.

“And we gotta get back to the customers,” Ezri announces, giving him a rueful smile.

“But we’re leaving you in good hands,” says Jadzia, and Elim is there, right there, and hugging him tight.

Julian holds on for dear life and a few more sobs escape him, but every one of them makes him feel lighter, until he finally feels ready to pull back, wipe his eyes, and blow his nose with the handkerchief Elim hands him.

“I’ll close up for the day,” Elim says, and goes to pay for their meals, handing an incredulous if overjoyed Jake not a double, but a quadruple tip.

Julian watches Elim close up shop when his eyes fall on the little bag of materials for the plush animal Molly had badgered the tailor into sewing.

He makes a spur-of-the-moment decision and grabs it.

He still has no idea what animal Elim had settled on, but he is going to find out.

Elim, done with his task, looks at the bag and gives Julian a questioning look.

“I thought I’d take you up on that sewing lesson, and you are probably eager to get started on your project, too,” Julian says with a soft smile.

They quickly collect Kukalaka and settle in Elim’s living room after he has collected a desk lamp.

“Light is important, we need to see what we’re doing,” Elim explains.

Then he takes out his sewing pattern and holds it up.

“What do you think?”

Julian’s eyes widen.

“Hey, that could be Kukalaka’s brother!”

“All the better. They can work together to fight off our nightmares,” Elim announces.

Before they can actually get started, however, a pounding on the door makes both jump.

Elim has grabbed a needle, which suddenly looks rather weapon-like, while Julian for one horrifying moment wonders whether Richard has managed to get out after all.

“Julian, are you here or upstairs?” a far more welcome voice sounds through the wood.

It falls to Elim to open the door.

“Is he alright?” Miles asks, positively panicked, scanning the room and finding Julian. His eyes go wide, and Julian notices just how badly he has hunched over.

He forces himself to get up as Miles stammers apologies.

“Oh crap, I freaked you out, didn’t I? I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, Jadzia texted Keiko what happened at the pizza shop and Keiko texted me and …”

“I’m okay,” Julian says, even if his smile feels weak.

Miles takes three steps forward and enfolds him in a tight hug, face buried in his neck, more physical contact than they usually make in a year.

Julian returns it.

“You were really worried, huh?” He asks in quiet amazement.

“Of course I was worried, that fucker stalked the fucking pizza shop and Jadzia said he would have attacked you if Ben hadn’t stopped him and I wasn’t there!”

Julian realizes, astonished, that Miles feels he has … failed to protect him? He helplessly pats his best friend’s back, muttering further reassurances that he is, in fact, okay.

Miles finally pulls back a bit, but still holds onto Julian’s shoulders for a moment, making deliberate eye contact.

“I know you’ve got that restraining order set up now,” he says earnestly, “But if he tries anything, you let me know, you hear me? I’ll teach him a lesson.”

“You’ll have to take a number and get in line,” Elim positively growls, and Miles turns to him, one hand still on Julian’s shoulder.

The two of them share a long look.

Julian does not quite understand what passes between them, but something does, because suddenly both their faces are lit up by smiles that are positively predatory.

“I am sure we can work together,” declares Elim.

“Yeah,” Miles agrees.

Then he takes a visible deep breath and looks around.

“Sorry for barging in here like this.”

“You were worried, and with good cause” Elim assures him. “I’m truly impressed you bothered with knocking.”

For a moment, Julian expects Miles to snap at that jab, but he just smiles wryly.

“I’d have had to fix the door otherwise.”

Miles gets out his phone.

“I better let Keiko know you’re okay,” He says.

If his hands are shaking as he texts his wife, none of them mention it.

When Miles puts the phone away, he looks around, as if grasping at straws - and finding one.

“Is that the plush you picked out?” he asks, pointing at the sewing pattern on the table.

Elim nods.

“Molly will be chuffed,” Miles says. “She’ll want to have tea parties.”

“We shall be glad to receive her invitations,” Elim responds with one of his cordial little bows.

Miles finally says his goodbyes with a handshake for Elim and another hug for Julian, and Julian stares at the closed door for a while.

Then he turns to Elim.

“You understood what just happened here.”

“Yes,” Elim says softly.

“Can you explain it to me?”

It is surreal to see that for once, Elim probably has a better handle on Miles.

“I can try.”

“Please do.”

“Miles has been to war. He’s lost friends before, and he already feels protective of you. You have, in tactical terms, just been ambushed by an old enemy with a grudge and, perhaps, a certain amount of … power over you.” Elim looks apologetic at saying it, but Julian can’t resent him for it.

It was true.

He had been just as terrified as he had been as a child.

“I would have had to check on you for myself after that, as well, no matter the reports of your welfare.” Elim admits.

Julian hugs him close.

“Speaking of protective urges …I’ll be having a hard time letting you out of my sight over the next few days,” Elim continues. “Do tell me if I become too overbearing. I may not see the line.”

“Will do,” Julian agrees.“So, you said Kukalaka’s back seam had a problem? What did I do wrong?”

“You fixed it, then?” Elim asks, and Julian feels a blush creep up his face as he nods.

“I followed an online tutorial,” He explains, embarrassed.

“You did a good job of the seam itself, but you probably didn’t know that the old threads needed to be woven in so that the seam does not come apart further?”

Julian nods.

“You didn’t know,” Elim assures him, a hand on his knee. “And now we’ll fix him right up.”

Elim demonstrates every step carefully, and gives Julian a fabric scrap on which he can practice all of them before so he can gain confidence before he actually starts on Kukalaka.

When he does, Elim picks up his own work, cutting out pattern pieces with practiced ease.

Julian concentrates on his seam, working slowly.

They work in comfortable silence, and when Julian finally asks Elim to check his work, the tailor’s praise sounds genuine, making him blush yet again.

With a snip, he cuts the thread and hides the ends, gives Kukalaka a cuddle, and finds himself a book to read while Elim continues his work.

Finally, Elim proudly presents his result - a fluffy little teddy bear.

“Think he’s up for the job?” He asks.

“I’m sure Kukalaka can teach him the basics,” Julian answers.

Elim sets his teddy bear next to Kukalaka and then turns to Julian.

“If you do ever want that name change …” he starts, trailing off, and Julian is mortified that Elim had apparently actually heard Ben.

The idea itself, however, suddenly doesn’t sound ridiculous anymore.

“Let me know.” Elim ends his sentence.

“We should have a few more dates first,” Julian says with a smile.

“There would be … other methods at our disposal, too,” Elim clarifies, and Julian finds himself feeling oddly disappointed.

Elim must read it on his face, because he squeezes Julian’s hand and adds “If you’d like to do it more quickly”

This would require thinking, and that isn’t what Julian wants to do today, so he asks: “Speaking of dates, plans this evening?”

“None but spending it with you,” Elim says, and it should sound cheesy, but it just sounds sweet.

“We should go out, then,” Julian announces and jumps up.

“Right now?” Elim asks, slightly puzzled, but he gets up and grabs his jacket anyway.

“Yep,” Julian says, popping the p and grins wide.

“And which number would that be?” Elim asks with a smile.

Julian makes a show of thinking about it, trying to mentally count out, and suddenly remembers a trip to the theatre, that feels both like yesterday and so long ago.

They are truly seeing each other now, aren’t they?

All the masks on the floor.

And suddenly, the answer is obvious.

“One,” he says firmly, and presses a short, sweet kiss to Elim’s lips.

“Number one it is,” Elim agrees, his smile growing impossibly warmer, and offers his arm.

“Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we’ve reached the end of the story. A huge thank you to all my lovely readers and especially commenters. 
> 
> The positive response to this story overwhelmed, humbled and inspired me. 
> 
> You will have already noticed that this story is marked as part of a series.
> 
> Coming up next is a shorter prequel I’m hoping to start posting in late summer/early autumn.
> 
> A longer sequel is already in the works as well, but still in larval stage.
> 
> UPDATE December 2017:
> 
> As you can tell, the "Late summer/Early Autumn" plan did not exactly work out.
> 
> The good news:
> 
> The Prequel, Compromising Virtue, now has a complete first draft that I'll soon begin to clean up for posting.
> 
> And during NaNoWriMo, I wrote about 42k worth of scenes for the Sequel, so the wait for that should hopefully not be nearly as long =)


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